Out of This World
by little-old-me3
Summary: Frodo and Sam discover a mysterious portal in the Pass of Cirith Ungol that leads them to a place they never dreamed existed: a starship. A Lord of the Rings and Star Trek: Enterprise crossover. WIP.
1. Out of the Frying Pan

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fan fiction. The characters belong to their respective creators: J.R.R. Tolkien, his estate, and possibly New Line Cinema; and Paramount Pictures and their writers.

**Author's notes:** This is my first work of fan fiction; reviews and constructive comments are welcomed, of course.

This is a crossover story, involving characters from J.R.R. Tolkien's _Lord of the Rings_ and _Star Trek: Enterprise_. The LotR parts are mainly based on the book, not the movie. The story begins with Sam and Frodo in Shelob's Lair and shortly after the "other" _Enterprise_ has gone through the subspace corridor mentioned in the episode "E2."

We first encounter our hobbit heroes Frodo and Sam in the pass of Cirith Ungol. Gollum has apparently deserted them, and Frodo has just used the Phial of Galadriel for the first time. With it, he and Sam have just had their first glimpse of the giant and hideous spider Shelob, the last remaining child of Ungoliant, and the Dark Lord Sauron's ally and guard of the pass. To put the story in proper perspective, it begins with an excerpt from _The Two Towers_, Chapter IX: "Shelob's Lair" (parts taken from p. 374 in my paperback edition).

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* * *

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**Chapter 1: Out of the Frying Pan…**

_Holding aloft the Phial Frodo looked and before him he saw a greyness which the radiance of the star-glass did not pierce and did not illuminate...Across the width and height of the tunnel a vast web was spun, orderly as the web of some huge spider, but denser-woven and far greater, and each thread was as thick as rope._

_Sam laughed grimly. 'Cobwebs!' he said. 'Is that all? Cobwebs! But what a spider! Have at 'em, down with 'em!'_

_In a fury he hewed at them with his sword, but the thread that he struck did not break...Three times Sam struck with all his force, and at last one single cord of all the countless cords snapped and twisted, curling and whipping through the air. _

_'It will take days to clear the road like this,' he said. 'What's to be done? Have those eyes come back?'_

_'No, not to be seen,' said Frodo…'If this light were lowered, or failed, they would quickly come again.'_

_'Tripped in the end!' said Sam bitterly, his anger rising again above weariness and despair. 'Gnats in a net. May the curse of Faramir bite that Gollum and bite him quick!'_

_'That would not help us now,' said Frodo. 'Come let us see what Sting can do.'...'But you must be the guard and hold back the eyes. Here, take the star-glass. Do not be afraid. Hold it up and watch!'_

Sam looked around the dark tunnel warily, listening intently for any sounds of the monstrous spider returning. As he watched Frodo successfully cleave a rent in the giant spider's web, Sam glanced around the cavern in curiousity. To his right he noticed a small passageway perhaps half the size of the cavern in which they now stood, its entry almost completely hidden by the rope-like strands which covered it. Peering carefully through the strands, he thought he perceived a door. Was this another way out of the terrifying tunnel? Cautiously he took a step closer.

"Sam!" cried Frodo in alarm as Sam stepped away. "The glass!" He stopped attacking the strands of web and joined Sam to look down the small corridor.

"There's some kind of door. Do you see it?" Sam pointed off to the side, indicating the smaller passageway.

"I see it," his master agreed after looking down the tunnel. "But I do not think we're meant to go that way. This tunnel clearly leads through the mountains. We dare not linger here. Those eyes will return soon."

"Aye," said Sam. "And if we're already through that door and out of these tunnels afore them eyes are back here, I'll be that much happier."

Frodo slashed once more at the webs blocking the larger tunnel. "Sméagol never mentioned a door."

"He never mentioned a spider the size of a troll neither. That Stinker never meant for us to leave this place alive." Sam peered worriedly down the long tunnel, ears straining for any sound, before regarding Frodo once more. "You know it, master. He's betrayed us."

Frodo glanced over at the side passageway, seeming to consider the idea even as he continued to hack at the webs blocking the main tunnel. Behind them in the distance, loose rocks clattered, and Sam raised his sword. How much more time could they afford to remain in one place? Surely this door might be the way out?

"Very well, Sam," said Frodo finally, turning to swing Sting across the smaller passageway. "I only fear we'll be trapped in here. Hold that glass high, and don't let it waver!"

Sam moved to protect his master's back, and soon an opening big enough for a hobbit had appeared. It seemed none too soon either, for Sam was sure he heard something approaching in the darkness. Frodo had already slipped through the rent in the webbing, and called for him to bring the light over. Reaching his master's side, Sam held the glass up to examine the strange door.

It was tall, with no apparent doorknob. A dark metal sign hung next to it, covered with queer runes.

Frodo placed a hand on his gardener's shoulder. "I am sorry, Sam-lad, but I see no way to enter. It looks as if we have no choice but to take the main tunnel."

"But Mr. Frodo!" protested Sam in dismay. "It could be you need to know the password, like at Moria. There weren't no way to get in there, seemingly, but we did!"

Frodo shook his head sadly. "I doubt that any words in Elvish would open this door. And the script resembles no tongue that Bilbo has ever taught me." He paused, turning away, clearly impatient to be moving on. "Come on! We cannot remain here any longer, Sam!"

But Sam had bent over what looked oddly like a long stone table, and was hurriedly brushing dust off of it. Covering the table was an array of runes and brightly colored squares of varying sizes that seemed to be cut into it. Many runes appeared similar to those on the sign near the door, and Sam realized, a shiver running across the back of his neck, that this was indeed a magic door. Their recent talk on the stairs of tales from long ago had brought many stories to mind, and didn't many of the great tales have magic doors which saved their heroes? Even old Mr. Bilbo had used that one to get into the dwarves' mountain, which the dragon Smaug had taken over. They only needed to find how to open this entrance, and who knew that it might not even lead to the Fiery Mountain itself? Hope, never lost but only hidden from him during these past hours of fear, stirred back to life in his heart once again.

"I'll wager these runes have somewhat to do with that door, master. I don't know rightly how it works, of course, but why else should it be here in front of the door?"

"I haven't any idea, but this is neither the time nor the place for a guessing game," replied Frodo anxiously. "I'm afraid we simply don't have the time to try it. Let us go and be out of this place before the spider returns!"

His gardener appeared not to have heard him and was muttering under his breath to himself. Sam had switched the star-glass to his right hand with his sword, holding both awkwardly in one hand, while the other hovered over the rune-marked table, hesitating.

A dark rustle and the scattering of loose pebbles alerted both hobbits to the approaching monster. Frodo reached behind himself, grabbing Sam's sleeve insistently. "Sam! The light!" he choked. Dimly they could make out the shape of a hideous leg in the larger cavern before them. Another appeared, ripping away the remains of the tattered strands they had torn in their entry. With a wild cry, Frodo turned and grabbed the phial from Sam's hand and thrust it forward.

The monster skated backward, then stopped, blocking the way out. The glare of the star-glass seemed to hold it at bay, but it hunched down staring at them with its many eyes.

"It's watching us," commented Sam from behind Frodo.

"Yes, it's watching us!" snapped Frodo irritably. "And I daresay if we had cut through those webs instead of trying to open a magic door without a wizard, we would be far away by now instead of providing it some entertainment before it eats us for supper!"

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Frodo. I didn't mean for this to happen!" Sam was shocked. Here he had tried to find an easier way out of their predicament, and now they had hardly a hope of getting out of it alive. _Nowt but a ninnyhammer indeed_, he thought to himself, his Gaffer's words echoing in his thoughts.

"I know, Sam." responded Frodo more gently. "So try your guess! It can hardly make things any worse than they are already."

"Well, it seems to me that if I pressed the right color it should open the door, leastways I hope so," explained Sam. "If I could only understand the letters! But I haven't any idea how to read the Black Speech, if you follow me."

Frodo watched the huge spider warily as he answered, lifting the star-glass threateningly in his left hand. His arm trembled. "But that isn't the Black Speech. I believe the tongue of Mordor is written in an older form of Elvish, and this writing does not resemble Elvish at all. Nor Dwarvish, for that matter."

Sam regarded the many runes in dismay, scratching his head, knowing that every moment he took to decide was a danger to them with the monstrous spider so near. Finally he squeezed his eyes shut and tentatively poked a green rectangle. It made a satisfying clicking noise as he pushed on it, the texture not feeling like stone after all, for all that it appeared to be so. He opened his eyes and realized that his efforts had had absolutely no effect whatsoever. "No!" wailed Sam, pulling at his hair.

* * *

Shelob jumped to her feet at the cry of despair. Frodo stared at the horrifying creature as she prepared to pounce forward.

"Sam?" he questioned, not daring to look behind him. "What is it? What have you done?"

"Nothing!" cried Sam. "It's done nothing at all."

"Well try another, then!" Shelob chose that moment to move, and Frodo cried out as she swung a hairy leg at him.

"Master!"

"I'm not hurt!" said Frodo, dashing backwards out of the giant spider's reach.

"Oh!" exclaimed Sam behind him.

"What?" asked Frodo, ducking another swipe of leg. He swung Sting upwards toward the creature, missing it entirely, and the menacing spider rose up in anger.

"It's doing something, Mr. Frodo!" called Sam excitedly, then his voice dropped. "Bless me!"

Frodo glanced behind him to see what new terror awaited them, as a loud ringing noise filled the air. The metal door had opened and a startlingly blue portal gaped before them. Abruptly something hairy struck him from behind. Frodo fell to the ground heavily as his gardener let out an inarticulate cry and rushed at the spider.

He scrabbled toward the door as Sam attacked the monster, suddenly ferocious. It was clear, however, that the giant spider was winning this fight. Frodo glanced behind him and saw that the bright light was beginning to fade.

"Sam!" called Frodo and Sam ran back to him, followed closely by Shelob.

"Do you want to try it, Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam, glancing nervously behind him before looking up with a gasp. The stench was unbearable.

Frodo also stared up at the enormous spider, only a few steps away. They had no choice now but to try the strange portal and hope for the best. "Yes! Now, Sam!" Frodo shoved the Phial of Galadriel in a pocket and blindly reached out for Sam as he stepped backwards through the doorway. Hands clasped together, they tumbled backwards into the swirling depths of the portal as the door snicked shut.

Shelob hissed in fury.


	2. Into the Fire

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fan fiction. The characters belong to their respective creators: J.R.R. Tolkien, his estate, and possibly New Line Cinema; and Paramount Pictures and their writers.

**Chapter 2:**…Into the Fire 

Frodo awoke lying on a cold, hard surface in the dark. He sat up stiffly. Sam lay next to him, in what appeared to be a small unused room. He could make out no door in the darkness. He reached out and shook his friend, arousing a sore but otherwise apparently unharmed Samwise.

"Mr. Frodo...what happened?" he asked groggily, shaking his head. "You weren't hurt, were you?"

"I'm well enough, Sam. Are you injured?" Frodo reached out to pick up Sting, which he had apparently dropped when coming through the door.

"No, but that light blinded me for a bit. That was a magic door, wasn't it, Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam excitedly as he likewise retrieved his own sword and sheathed it.

"I imagine so. It certainly seemed to be." The older hobbit stood, looking around the room cautiously. "I think I'll see what the star-glass will show us." Carefully, Frodo took the Phial out of his pocket, its light gently flickering under his hand.

"Is it safe to use it? Aren't there orcs nearby?" asked Sam, as he also stood.

"No, Sting was quiet. Perhaps we are in an unused part of a tower." Frodo walked to the closest wall and inspected it carefully. No door. Strange colored bits of glass gleamed in the light from the Phial, others were colored black, and dimly reflected the light of the glass.

"You really think we're in a – tower, Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam worriedly. "One of them fortresses? Bar- Barid–"

"Barad-dûr," finished Frodo quietly, as he stepped down from the dais where they had lain, continuing to inspect the room. "I hope not, but where else would a magic door in a secret tunnel lead to in these lands? And have you noticed these walls?"

Sam followed Frodo, reaching out to run his fingers along one of the walls. "It's made of metal," he said, "Just like everything else in this room. Even the floor is metal."

"Exactly my point," said Frodo. "If our Quest fails, all of Middle-Earth could look like this someday, even the Shire."

Sam gasped in horror at the thought. "Our Quest won't fail," he answered stoutly.

By now the two hobbits had circled the small room. Across from the dais where they had found themselves stood some type of tall table, with strangely-shaped knobs and switches at a height just above their heads. The walls were smooth, except for a few odd knobs set into the metal walls. The room had an eerie coldness about it the hobbits had never felt before. They could find no door.

Disheartened, Sam sat down against one wall, sliding his pack off of his back. "Well, Mr. Frodo, now might be a good time to have a bit of a bite, seeing as how we don't seem to be able to go nowhere."

His master joined him and Sam gave him some of the lembas he had taken out of his pack.

"It's very strange that there's a way in here, but no way back out," commented Sam. "Why have a door that don't lead to anything?"

"I wish I knew, Sam," answered Frodo tiredly. "I cannot see any way out of here. But the thought of staying here until some servant of the Enemy finds us doesn't bear thinking about." Idly, he had clutched the ring at the thought through his shirt until he saw Sam's frown and dropped his hand.

"No, it don't," agreed Sam, watching Frodo closely "Is It very heavy, Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo shook his head. "Oddly enough, It's not. I don't know whether that bodes good or ill for us."

Suddenly the hobbits heard loud footsteps approaching, shaking the floor on which they sat. In less than a heartbeat, swords were drawn and they had both sprung to their feet.

It proved unnecessary for the footsteps continued on and eventually disappeared into the distance.

"Master!" said Sam excitedly. "That came from behind the wall!"

Frodo held the star-glass up to the wall, but could see no doorknob or indication of a way out. Abruptly he realized the door must also be made of the same metal as the walls. Holding the star-glass over his head, he took a step back, examining the wall carefully for anything which could be moved.

"There, Sam!" he said, pointing as he spied a square knob above Sam's head. "Look, this is not a wall upon which we've been resting after all! This is a door."

Sam sheathed his sword and picked up his pack, staring at the knob. "Well I'll be. I'd not have thought it, but there it is, like the magic door: you push on the knob to open it. But it's not sense! Folk should make doors that look like doors, not walls." He swung around excitedly, and walked over to the tall table at the center of the room. "Mr. Frodo! Does that mean all of these will open something?" He considered all of the many colored knobs and switches above him, before turning back to his master. "Why, we could go almost anywhere!"

"They can't all be for doors," commented Frodo reasonably, with a smile at Sam's enthusiasm. "No, I don't think it wise to use them when we don't know what they could do. We can't let anyone know that we're here."

"Should we go on then?" asked Sam. "If you're ready, master?"

Frodo picked up his own pack. "We won't get any farther standing here. It's not a safe place to remain in any case. There's nowhere to go should someone come in."

They walked forward, standing by the wall that was not a wall, and listened carefully for footsteps. Frodo nodded at Sam, who reached up and determinedly tapped the control above him.

The door opened seamlessly, horribly bright light blinding them. Shielding their eyes, they crept forward carefully, blinking quickly.

"I thought orcs didn't much like light," said Sam. "At least we won't be needing the Lady's glass, it seems."

"There are no orcs here," answered Frodo. "Sting hasn't even flickered."

"So, which way to the outside, Mr. Frodo? Left or right?"

"I suppose it makes little difference. Let's try left."

Sam sniffed at the air. "In Moria, Mr. Gandalf said when we were lost, to follow our noses to the way out. Do you remember that, master? But I don't smell any difference in either direction." He followed Frodo as his master began walking quietly down the corridor. "But shouldn't it smell foul in a tower in Mordor? It isn't at all what I would have expected."

Frodo nodded in agreement, and laid a cautioning hand on the other hobbit's arm. "Quietly now, Sam. We mustn't attract any attention." Had it not been such a serious situation he might have laughed at Sam's expression as the younger hobbit clapped a hand over his own mouth.

The two hobbits made their way down the passageway in almost complete silence, passing several doors. The bright lights shone harshly above them and the cold hard metal beneath their feet and on the walls seemed to echo every sound. Frodo winced at the clatter of Sam's cooking gear, the noise startlingly loud in the deserted passage. Gradually the two hobbits began to notice a loud rumbling noise which grew louder and stronger as they went forward.

Frodo was the first to hear voices; they seemed to be calling to one another over the loud rumbling. Their corridor stopped at a large room directly in front of them. Cautiously he crept to the side and peered through the open door, Sam directly behind him.

* * *

The room was full of strange machines and lights which flashed many colors, with numerous knobs and switches everywhere. The largest of these machines seemed to pulse as if it held a great burning fire. Metal stairs led up to some unseen higher level. Everywhere there were tall men and women in some kind of livery rushing around, calling to each other, pressing switches and knobs, and waving strange unknown bits of metal at the machines. 

"Lady save us," whispered Sam in Frodo's ear. "What can they be doing? Do you think they're building some great new weapon?"

Frodo shook his head. "I couldn't say. At least there are no orcs." He drew the hood of his Elvish cloak over his head. "This is clearly not the right way. We should go back as quickly as we can, before we're seen."

Sam also drew his hood up. He agreed with his master; as horrible as these Men might be, orcs would be worse. But the prospect of being seen was a frightening one. "And if we are seen? Do we fight them? They aren't wearing swords. And I'd hate to raise a weapon against a lady."

"We run. We only fight if we must, but remember, Sam, they are the Enemy. They serve the Dark Lord, men and women both. We should keep our swords drawn now, I suppose," continued Frodo, frowning. "There's no knowing what we'll find next."

Sam nodded, drawing his. "What are we looking for anyway, Mr. Frodo? Stairs?"

"Stairs down would be best, a map if we can find one, although I don't expect it. Maybe a window would be useful. Anything to help us find a way out of here."

They began walking quickly back down the corridor. After only a few moments, the two hobbits heard raised voices. There were no nearby doors, nowhere to hide.

Sam pressed himself against the wall next to Frodo. He drew his hood down further, although it seemed unlikely they would escape notice of the nearing Men. He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly in his sweaty palm. His heart pounded in his ears as the approaching people stepped around the corner and saw them.

* * *

Trip Tucker was not having a good day. To begin with, he was still on duty after his usual shift because of a persistent electrical problem caused by _Enterprise_'s last battle with the Xindi. It had been more than a week since then and most of the Engineering crew were still working long shifts in the attempt to return the ship to normal. So it was that in spite of being exhausted and having a headache that felt as if it would tear his brain in half, Trip found himself on his way back to Engineering at 0100 hours instead of on his way to his quarters. 

Crewman Carter accompanied him down the hall, gesturing excitedly at the PADD she held, and giving him an overview of the current electrical problems. Then they turned around the corner and stopped in surprise.

Standing against the wall in front of them were two children, dressed in costume as if for Halloween. They stared at the two Starfleet officers warily, their features hidden under the deep hoods of gray cloaks.

"Where did you two come from?" blurted Trip in surprise. He approached the two briskly.

"Commander – " cautioned Crewman Carter behind him, as the closest of the children raised his sword threateningly, as if he knew how to use it. Belatedly, Trip realized the swords were made of real metal, and looked sharp. He stepped back quickly.

Trip rubbed his eyes tiredly. Maybe he had fallen asleep and this was some kind of strange dream, he supposed. "All right, kids. Why don't we put away the dangerous sharp objects, now?" he began once more, in as calm a voice as he could manage. "Then you can tell nice Commander Tucker where you came from and why you're walking around _Enterprise_ with real swords."

"Commander," insisted Crewman Carter. "They aren't human. Look at their feet!"

Earlier in the day Trip might have been faster in noticing essential details. As tired as he was he had neglected to notice the curly fur on the dirty feet of the children in front of him, dark fur on the closest child and lighter on the feet of the one behind him. As he considered them more closely, Trip realized their clothing was more than a little threadbare, and far from clean; he wondered if they were refugees of some sort, or orphans. Neither thought explained their appearance on Enterprise.

The closer child called something out in an unfamiliar language. Although the arm brandishing his sword hardly wavered at all, Trip could hear fear in his voice.

"Carter, is something wrong with the translator?" he asked, wondering why the program wasn't functioning.

"Sir, we took it offline earlier when we were testing systems. I assume it isn't back up yet."

Of course, thought Trip resignedly. Two alien children somehow landed on their ship, and the translator was offline. It only fit in with the rest of his day, after all.

Walking slowly down the hall to avoid frightening the children any more than possible he hit the comm link. "Tucker to the bridge," he announced, doubting that Archer was still there.

"T'Pol here," came the answer, her voice unperturbed as always. "Is something wrong, Commander?"

"Well, we've found some stowaways, apparently. We just found some kids dressed up in costumes with very lifelike weapons wandering around on D Deck."

"Children?" questioned T'Pol calmly. Of course she didn't sound surprised. "Human children?"

"No, Subcommander, I don't think they're human. But we can't quite identify them, since the translator's offline and we're having communication difficulties."

"I see." There was a slight pause, and Trip looked over to the kids, who had not moved, and still held their swords, although he did notice they had lowered them slightly. Maybe that was a good sign. "Commander, please escort them to the brig, and I will send Ensign Sato over there shortly."

Trip was aghast. "The brig? T'Pol, they're kids! We can't put them in the brig!"

"What would you suggest, Commander?"

He considered for a moment, watching the kids, who were now slowly inching along the wall towards Crewman Carter. "How about the Guest Quarters? They're empty. They seem pretty frightened, T'Pol. The brig would just scare them even more."

"Very well. Escort them to the guest quarters. I will send Dr. Phlox with Ensign Sato to inspect them."

"Good idea. Tucker out." He turned just in time to see the two children begin to move, in the direction he and Carter had come from. The first child ducked under the Crewman's arm, followed by his companion, running full-speed down the corridor.

Trip followed them, dashing around the corner. With a flying leap, he managed to grab the second one around the waist, bringing them both down to the floor with a thud. Trip grunted in pain as he felt his mouth hit something hard in the kid's backpack.

The other child turned and called something to his friend, his gray cloak swirling about him. By this time his hood had fallen back and Trip got a view of dark, unruly curls framing a pale, anguished face as he looked back toward the twisting child Trip was attempting to hold down. The utter fear in the dark-haired child's face unnerved the Engineering officer. Why would he be so afraid of them, even if he had never met humans before? Behind him he was dimly aware of Crewman Carter calling Security.

The child underneath him bellowed something in his incomprehensible tongue, and Trip winced. Now that hadn't helped his headache one bit. The other child called something back, then turned once again and ran as if his very life depended on it.

* * *

Frodo ran as fast as he could down the unfamiliar passage, breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his ears. Ahead of him he heard the stamp of many booted feet. He paused and looked around wildly for somewhere to hide. There was a door to his left, and he slapped at the control to open it, but nothing happened. Running forward, he tried the same at the next door on the right with no apparent result. 

Hearing the Big People approaching, he spun and saw five uniformed Men come around the corner. One of them called out a phrase in their strange language.

The idea came into his mind unbidden. Or perhaps he had been thinking of it all the while, and only realized it now. His thoughts swam around in his head, the inner debate strengthened by weariness and terror. Of course he dared not use It, ever; they were in Mordor. It would be more than folly, it could be deadly. But surely he was not in Barad-dûr itself, or the Dark Lord would already have found him. To use It would be the end of him, perhaps the end of everything. But were these not the Dark Lord's very servants, and the end already upon him? These were no wraiths, they were Men. Surely he could use It, just for a moment, just to escape? If they caught him now, would not Sauron then recover the Ring and all the world fall into darkness?

Frodo glanced up as he backed away towards the wall behind him, and saw the approaching guards, only steps from him. He made his decision and setting the Ring upon his finger, vanished.

* * *

A Security detail came barreling down the corridor, stopping when they saw Trip holding the sandy-haired child in his arms, struggling wildly to reach the floor. Trip kicked the sword the child had dropped towards the guards, and it slid out of reach. 

"Where's the other kid?" asked Trip, not seeing him. The Security guards looked around in confusion.

"You haven't seen him, sir?" asked one of them. "We thought he might've come this way."

"You should have passed him in the corridor-"

"He disappeared, sir." stated another member of the Security detail. "Vanished into thin air, right in front of us."

"Vanished? People don't just vanish-"

"Sir, we all saw it," confirmed a third Security guard.

"Do you think he was transported away? Or camouflaged himself somehow?"

"There was no way to tell, Commander," responded the last guard. "But I don't think he could have transported so quickly. One second he was there, the next he was gone."

Trip sighed loudly in exasperation. Of course these alien kids would have some kind of special ability that humans didn't have. His day kept getting even better. He loved the idea of exploring the galaxy and meeting new cultures, but somehow it didn't appeal to him so much just at this very moment. Not after everything that had happened recently. He had also begun to question whether these "kids" really were children at all, after seeing the one in his arms up close. But it was hard to tell, since this seemed to be a new race they had not encountered before. Phlox would be able to detect the age of the creatures.

"Well, why don't two of you take this one to the guest quarters," he ordered, handing the struggling alien to them. He picked up the fallen sword; it seemed hardly longer than a long knife when he held it. "And hold on to him! We don't need both of them disappearing. The rest of you, Crewman Carter, come on. We'll search the rest of the rooms in the corridor. Maybe he just snuck into someone's unlocked quarters or something."

* * *

Frodo crept soundlessly down the deserted passageway. The soldiers had run past him some time ago, and for some unknown reason there seemed to be very few people in the halls now. He had tried opening other doors as he passed them, but none responded to his touch. This part of the passageway seemed abandoned, at least for the present. 

He stopped for a moment to rest, leaning against the metal wall. Sam was behind him somewhere; he could not just go off and leave him in the hands of these Men. He had a vague idea of finding the way down, then rescuing Sam and escaping. Certainly it would take some precious time, but Frodo had no intention of just leaving him here alone in the Enemy's hands, in spite of what Sam had shouted to him earlier.

He stared down at the Ring, gleaming on his right hand. He had intended to remove It as soon as it seemed safe to do so, and had been debating the idea within himself for quite a while. He knew his danger increased every moment he wore It, and yet removing It seemed such a terribly hard thing to do.

Shutting his eyes in exhaustion, for they had surely been running through caves and strange corridors for the better part of a day now, the hobbit slid down the wall to a sitting position, knocking something out of his pocket as he did so. He reached out to pick it up; it was the Phial of Galadriel he had tucked away earlier. Looking from one hand to the other, the left gently flickering with the soothing light of Eärendil and the Ring on his right glittering coldly, Frodo pulled the Ring off angrily and put It back on Its chain, furious at It, and with himself for his weakness.

Wearily pulling himself back onto his feet, he looked around for another door, one he had not yet tried. It seemed that everything in this tower lay behind a door; he had not yet seen any open areas or halls.

He approached one which lay just past where he had rested, and pressed an ear to the wall. There w as no noise other than the low rumbling that seemed to echo everywhere, likely from the great machine he and Sam had seen earlier. If only Elbereth or some other mighty power might be watching over him, and this door would be the way out of the tower!

Frodo reached up toward the knob next to the door, expecting the same response as all the previous ones. To his shock, the door slid open before his hand reached the knob, and he saw long legs stepping forward.

Gasping, he turned and fled without time for thought, but had gone no more than two steps before something grabbed him and lifted him into the air. Frodo squirmed with all his strength and finally swung Sting menacingly at the person holding him. It dropped him and he fell, ready to run as soon as his feet touched the floor, but they had barely made contact before he found himself once more in the air. Something struck him in the neck and he knew no more.


	3. Detained

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fan fiction, and written only for entertainment purposes. The characters belong to their respective creators: J.R.R. Tolkien, his estate, and possibly New Line Cinema; and Paramount Pictures and their writers.

**Chapter 3:** Detained

Hoshi Sato walked quickly down the corridor from the turbolift, tugging surreptitiously on her uniform to smooth it out. Behind her walked Doctor Phlox, who had not just been roused from sleep as she had. Most of this mission had been spent fighting the Xindi, and she was glad for the opportunity to use her communication skills in a familiar manner. After all, the reason she had ever agreed to join _Enterprise_ in the first place was to provide communication between the crew and aliens. She was really looking forward to meeting the recent arrivals, regardless of the fact that they were stowaways; it would be refreshing to work without the ship's translator for a change.

Two members of Security stood guard outside the door to one of the ship's guest quarters, and opened the door for them as they approached. Inside Hoshi found Commander Tucker and Sub-Commander T'Pol standing near the door.

The guest quarters consisted of a main room with a bathroom off to the left. The main room contained a few pieces of furniture, including a standard bed and small table with two chairs as well as a window, a luxury item, even if it was not very large. The bed sat in the far corner of the room, against the right wall. Huddled in the corner opposite it were two small humanoid creatures, who might have been human except for their extremely hairy feet and slightly pointed ears. One of the creatures had dark brown curly hair and sat against the wall, rubbing his neck. The other, with sandy hair, also curly, stood guard next to his companion, his arms crossed and his eyes warily regarding the Starfleet officers.

"Ensign, we await your assistance with our visitors," remarked T'Pol, turning to her as she came in. "Commander Tucker has informed me the ship's translator will not be functioning until tomorrow morning."

"Hopefully," added Trip from where he stood to the right of the Vulcan.

T'Pol ignored this comment and continued. "They have been quite uncommunicative so far. "

"Oh, but you should've heard them earlier T'Pol," said Trip. "They were yelling all sorts of things when we first found them."

"Do you remember any of it?" asked Hoshi as she slowly walked forward.

"No, sorry, Hoshi. My head's best with machines, not foreign languages." He put a hand out to stop her as Hoshi came level with him. "I wouldn't go any closer if I were you. They tend to get a bit nervous when we get too near."

"Well, we must seem pretty big to them," answered Hoshi. "How would you like it if you were surrounded by giants?"

Trip smiled tightly. "I didn't think of that."

The communications officer bent down into a crouch, watching the aliens carefully. When she was sure she had their attention, she set her PADD to record and placed it on the floor, then began the most basic attempt to communicate with them by placing a hand on her chest and saying her name. There was no response so she repeated her action.

The dark-haired alien tilted his head and regarded her with what Hoshi could only interpret as mistrust. The standing alien shook his head, and as she repeated her name another time, shook it again.

That was very clear body language. She reached down to stop the PADD from recording.

"I don't think they want to talk to us," she told the others.

"Well they haven't been exactly what you'd call friendly," stated Trip. "When we found them, they tried to attack Crewman Carter and I with swords – real metal swords!"

T'Pol nodded. "Indeed, the one who is sitting barely missed hitting me with his when I found him in the hallway."

"Swords?" Hoshi looked back at the aliens, considering. Their clothing was so dirty and torn it was hard to tell from its state what type of technology their culture might possess.

"Do you think they're from a pre-warp society?" asked Hoshi, looking back to T'Pol.

The Vulcan shook her head. "I would even surmise they are from a pre-industrial society, Ensign, given the swords and the majority of items found in their backpacks, although I can think of no logical reason how members of a pre-industrial society could have found their way onto a starship. It is perplexing."

"Pre-industrial?" Hoshi shook her head in amazement and sympathy. "No wonder they won't talk to us, then. They must be frightened out of their wits."

"I had that same idea earlier," said Trip, leaving his post by the wall. "When I caught that first one, the one with lighter hair, his friend turned back to look at him, and he just got this look on his face like -"

"Like what?" asked Hoshi.

"Like he was scared to death of something, and that something was me. I can tell you, it really didn't make me feel all that great. Made me feel like I was some kind of bully."

"If I may make a medical opinion–" began Phlox quietly.

The other three officers looked at him.

"I suggest we leave them be for the night, allow them to calm and rest themselves, and we shall see if anyone is in a better mood in the morning. They clearly do not feel like speaking with us now."

"It is the middle of the night," conceded Hoshi. "They might be tired."

"What if they have something to do with the Xindi?" asked Trip worriedly. "I don't want to wait until morning to find out they're tied up in the whole mess somehow."

"We have already ascertained we were transported 117 years in the past by entering the subspace corridor," stated T'Pol. "It is unlikely the Xindi will appear here for a very long time. I agree with the Doctor. Letting them rest would be a satisfactory solution, and Captain Archer may address them in the morning."

"Good," said Phlox. "Just one more thing, then." He walked to the table and took one of the chairs, placing it in front of the sink in the adjoining bathroom.

"What are you doing?" asked Hoshi, confused.

"If you have not noticed, our guests are rather, hmm, filthy would be the word? It would be most unsanitary for them to remain in their present condition. If they really are from a pre-industrial society, I would like to introduce them to modern plumbing. And since they will not communicate –"

Before the two aliens could react, the doctor dashed forward quickly and picked up the darker-haired alien, who was slightly smaller than his companion, grunting as he lifted him. Clearly the alien was not as light as he looked. With a cry, the other one leapt at him, but T'Pol, moving fast, stopped him with hands placed on his shoulders, not unkindly.

Hoshi watched from the bathroom doorway as Phlox settled the small alien on the chair, steadying him with one hand.

"There, you're all right, you're all right," soothed Phlox, patting the small creature on the shoulder. "I'm a doctor, I won't hurt you. We have rules about these things." he continued, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the creature was clearly angry and did not understand a word the Denobulan was saying. "Now you just watch me," said Phlox, turning on the faucet and placing the alien's smaller hands under the water. The creature gasped, but from her vantage Hoshi saw his face in the mirror over the sink go from angry to surprised and delighted.

"Water," she stated clearly and slowly, the episode reminding her of a play she'd seen once, years ago.

The alien turned to face her, no longer struggling in Phlox's grip. "Oh-a-der," he repeated slowly, in a heavily accented voice, and nodded at the doctor, saying something in his own language. Hoshi filed the sounds away in her memory for future use.

"I think he just thanked you," she said to Phlox.

Phlox chuckled softly, sounding quite pleased with himself. "I believe he did! Well you're quite welcome, little alien. Maybe tomorrow you won't be so frightened of us all, hmm? Glad to do my part for interspecies harmony."

The alien, clearly not understanding a word, simply stared down at the water rushing from the faucet before tentatively reaching to turn it off. Phlox left to join T'Pol and Trip in the corridor, leaving the sandy-haired alien standing alone in the middle of the room.

"Ensign, will you join us?" requested T'Pol, and Hoshi followed the other Starfleet officers reluctantly as they left, locking the door behind them.

**

* * *

**

"Sam! Sam!" called Frodo excitedly, once they had been left alone. He rushed to his master, worriedly looking into the small room. Frodo stood on a chair, leaning over some type of metal basin, with a spout that poured forth running water. His master was washing his arms as Sam entered the small room.

"It's hot water, Sam! It just comes straight out of the wall, already heated!" he exclaimed in wonder. "Good heavens! When was the last time we had hot water?"

"Lothlórien?" guessed Sam, standing on his toes and grasping the edge of the basin to peer over and take a look. "It's more of that magic, is it?"

"I suppose so, a most wonderful magic." He stopped washing to look around the small room. "It's a shame, really. There's doesn't seem to be any kind of bathtub. We haven't had a proper bath since Lothlórien either."

"Well, there was that cold water Captain Faramir offered us, and that stream a few days ago, Mr. Frodo, chilly as it was, and no mistake." Sam wandered over to another strange piece of metal furniture in the small room and lifted its lid. "Oh," he blushed, dropping it. "A privy." Behind him stood a wall made out of some strange clear material. Stepping inside, he saw several pieces of metal imbedded in the wall, and began pulling at them. A small door opened and he found two bottles made of a strange material, which revealed what seemed to be soap, once he pulled at them. "Soap!" he said loudly, bringing it over to Frodo. "I've found you some soap, master."

"Are you certain?" Frodo took one of the items, inspecting it closely, and rubbing at it with a hand. "This doesn't feel like soap, Sam."

Sam demonstrated his previous action, pulling at the top of the bottle vigorously. "It's inside, see? It smells like soap ought to, anyways. Liquid soap, now who'd ever have thought of that?"

While Frodo turned back to the washbasin, now with soap, attempting to remove bits of spider webbing from his hair, Sam continued to investigate the room, turning back to the curious walled area where he had found the soap. Was it a storage area? If it was, it was certainly not well stocked. Pulling at a metal appendage near the height of his eyes, Sam was shocked to see water pouring out from a metal spigot placed higher up on the wall.

"A waterfall," he cried in surprise. "Seems they don't take baths here after all, Mr. Frodo. They like to wash in waterfalls!"

Frodo came behind him to stare up at the odd invention. "Well, I must say, I would prefer a bath. But what a clever idea! Perhaps they miss their time outdoors? Their masters must have kept these people in this tower for a long time indeed, if they create metal waterfalls to bathe in."

"Well, we may as well use it ourselves," said Sam practically. "You go first, master. I'll just see what else I can find in this place." Sam left the bathing room, searching for something which might work as a towel. Spying a pair of blankets folded on the bed, he retrieved one of them, leaving it near the waterfall for Frodo to find it, then returned once more to the main room. Cautiously, he tried pressing on the control near the door, but as he guessed, it did nothing. They were locked in here. A fine prison cell it was, with a bathing room and furniture, but a prison cell all the same.

His thoughts returned to the strange people who had recently captured them. It was plain that not only Men served in this tower, for two of their captors were clearly of another race entirely. The creature who had shown Frodo the magic washbasin was certainly not a Man. From the looks of him Sam thought he might be some kind of goblin, but one who undoubtedly knew of bathing. Not at all like the ones they'd met in Moria. Then there was the woman with the ears of an elf, but none of their bearing. She did not have the light about her that Sam associated with elves. Yet for all of their differences, these people did not seem evil. He recalled all too clearly Frodo's words in Bree when they had met Strider, that a servant of the Enemy would seem fairer and feel fouler, and his own thoughts on battle in Ithilien while awaiting Faramir's return with Mablung and Damrod. Perhaps these people were not evil at all, just misled by lies or threats, and served Sauron by unhappy chance.

Frodo came out of the bathing room, water dripping from his hair, brushing at the dirt and stray bits of webbing on his tunic. "Your turn, Sam!" he said, placing jacket and cloak on a nearby chair. "Bilbo said it best, you know: 'Water hot is a noble thing.'"

Sam chuckled in agreement and went to take his turn washing in an indoor waterfall.

**

* * *

**

Sam woke some time in the middle of the night. For a moment he wondered where he was before memory returned. He shivered, reaching for the blanket, then realized his master had claimed it. He turned to regard Frodo lying next to him and saw him shivering intensely, his hands at his breast, gripping the cloth of the blanket tightly in shaking hands. Worriedly, Sam wondered if his master might be ill, and laid a hand tenderly on Frodo's brow, but there did not seem to be any heat that might indicate a fever.

Gently Sam took one of Frodo's hands in his own. "Master," he called softly. "What's wrong? Are you not feeling well?"

Frodo looked up at him, and Sam caught his breath, seeing absolute fear in them. Not ill, then, Frodo was very simply terrified. "I've failed, Sam," he whispered.

"No!' protested Sam, alarmed. "Not yet, you haven't, Mr. Frodo."

"I've failed," repeated Frodo. "They'll find It…._He'll_ take It."

The words sent a shiver through him, the meaning very clear. Sam's own heart quailed as for a moment, the thought of what Sauron might do if he got the Ring entered his mind, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trembling. He blinked back tears, and sniffled. Then Sam forced himself to think of something else, of comforting Mr. Frodo, for no good could come of thinking of such things.

"You must not lose hope," said Sam, his voice as strong as he could manage. "If Mr. Bilbo could help thirteen dwarves escape from a dungeon in barrels down a river, two hobbits can escape from a tower. We'll find a way."

Frodo bowed his head, and spoke so quietly Sam could barely hear him. "I'm sorry, lad. I fear I have little hope left."

"Then I'll do the hoping for both of us. You just rest now."

Frodo pressed Sam's clasped hands with his own free hand. "My dear Sam," he said softly, looking up at him, and smiled at him gratefully, with less fear in his eyes. Then his master settled himself back wearily onto his side, and shut his eyes.

Sam lay back down slowly beside Frodo, taking up his edge of the blanket, and attempted to find his own way back to sleep.

**

* * *

**

Hoshi stopped in front of the guest quarters, indicating with a nod of her head for one of the MACOs who stood guard at the door to open it, since her hands were busy holding the breakfast tray intended for _Enterprise_'s two small guests. Privately she wondered if stationing MACOs outside of their door was even necessary, for the two aliens did not seem dangerous. But Captain Archer and T'Pol had insisted, and Lieutenant Reed had echoed their warnings when asked. Unknown aliens who could disappear at will were not to be taken lightly, despite their small stature.

The door slid open, and Hoshi entered a surprisingly bright room. Had both of the aliens awoken already? Then she realized that of course the twain would not have known how to adjust the lighting in the chamber for sleeping. She would have to remember to tell them about it at some point.

The sandy-haired alien came into the room from the bathroom, drying his hands on his pants, his sleeves pushed up past his elbows. He stopped at the sight of her and watched her guardedly. The other did not seem to be in the main room, but she heard the water running in the bathroom.

"Good morning!" she said as cheerily as she could, placing the breakfast tray on the table. Since there had been no way to know what the aliens ate, a variety of food had been provided: fruit, toast, cereal with milk, and some juice. Meat had not been included, since, as T'Pol insisted, there was no way of knowing if they ate it, and could have been offended at finding it included if they did not partake of it.

The alien was standing there, staring at her. For a moment, Hoshi wondered if the universal translator was rendering her speech accurately. Finally, he spoke. "How know I your words?" he asked, clearly confused. "Before spoke you different."

He understood her! The hours spent working on the translator's database were worth every moment. Hoshi smiled, crouching down to be at his eye level. "I'm still speaking the same language. Our translator has been fixed, so now we can speak to each other."

He scratched his head with one hand absently, then shook his head. "Sorry, but your words understand I not. Say you, that you many words speak?"

"I do," replied Hoshi, her mind racing to explain as simply as possible what a Universal Translator did to someone from a pre-industrial culture. "But what I meant is, we have a machine that translates words for us. Yesterday it was broken. Now it is fixed." She was very glad now that she had remembered to turn her PADD on before entering. It was recording everything he said, and would be very helpful in correcting the syntax of the aliens' language in the Universal Translator's database.

"A machine, say you?" He grinned. "More from your magic, saying I am."

Magic? Well, the explanation would work for now. "If it's easier for you to think of it that way, then yes." She stood up. "You must be very hungry. I've brought you and your friend some breakfast. We don't know what you eat, so I hope you like our food." Hoshi was thankful that at least Engineering had considered the galley and resequencers high priority. Not only was Chef in a better mood, but she wondered what these aliens would think had she had to give them MREs for breakfast.

The creature was beaming. "Thank you and happy. I have hungry much. I am sure, that your food good to be will. Before now have I many _razan_ food ate, and no mistake."

"Good," she smiled down at him again. He seemed to be in a much better mood than the previous night, and much calmer; Phlox had been right. "The Captain would like to speak to you after you and your friend have eaten." She stepped back slowly toward the door, pausing in front of it. "So I'll be back in a little while to bring you to him."

Hoshi pushed the control to open the door and several things happened very quickly. Something pushed her roughly to the side, and she hit her head on the wall. Falling to her knees, Hoshi saw one alien form rush past her, out the door. Another dashed under her as she jumped up to shut the door.

Running out into the hall, Hoshi saw both MACOs holding a struggling alien in their arms.

"Determined little things, aren't they?" commented one of the soldiers. "Fast, too."

"You'd better bring them back in here," stated the Communications ensign, shaken. They had planned this! The friendliness shown her in the room had all been an act. "And I think we'll need some more people to bring them to see Captain Archer, if they're so intent on escaping."

**

* * *

**

Sam stood on a chair, leaning over the washbasin in the bathing room and rubbing at the damp sleeve of his jacket in an attempt to remove several large splotches of dirt. He had already treated Frodo's jacket in a similar fashion. They had finished eating the breakfast given them by their captors and would shortly meet the Captain of the tower. Frodo crouched off to one side, fastidiously scrubbing at his feet with a dampened corner of the blanket that had been serving them as a towel. If they were going to be brought before the Captain, they would do so as hobbits of the Shire, not ragamuffins who had wandered in the Wild for far too long.

Finally satisfied with the state of his jacket, Sam hopped down from the chair and made his way to the window in the main room, before which stood the other chair. Climbing onto it, Sam stared out into the vast blackness of the sky. They had already noticed that the sky never lightened, a sure sign they were still in Mordor, and Frodo had reckoned earlier that the bright streaks of light might be stars, although why stars should behave in such a fashion was beyond him. Perhaps the glass of the window made them appear so.

Frodo coughed behind him and Sam slid out of the chair. His master had been more somber than ever since awakening, and it wasn't difficult for him to guess why. Frodo stood before him, hands shoved in the pockets of his breeches, then began after taking a deep breath. "I - I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am that you are here with me – that you stayed with me to the end."

"It may not be the end, Mr. Frodo," answered Sam, even as he felt his eyes began to prickle with hot tears, for even their recent attempt at escape had failed. The end wouldn't be all that long in coming now, save for a wonder happening.

"It may not," agreed Frodo, staring past Sam, out the window above him. "I want to ask you to promise me something."

"What is it?" asked Sam carefully. He had several ideas in his head already of what his master might be thinking, and none of them were something he would agree to.

"If you see a chance to escape, take it. Do not wait for me, just run. Get away. Try to find your way back to Faramir, if you can, if he yet lives. Give them a chance to prepare themselves for the Darkness that is to come."

So that was it. Sam crossed his arms across his chest. "No," he said simply. "I'll not promise to do such a thing."

"I thought not." His master looked up at him frantically, tears in his own eyes. "Sam, there are some fates worse than death. I do not want you to face them. The Ring is my own burden and my own doom, not yours."

"I won't let you face the Dark Lord alone, Mr. Frodo, and that's a fact. I made up my mind a long time ago, and it can't be changed."

"Oh, Sam!" Frodo grabbed him in a fierce embrace, and Sam heard him sniffling. "Never has there been a more loyal friend." He released Sam, leaving only one hand on his shoulder. "If – If I don't…make it through this, and you do, will you…tell Bilbo…"

It was Sam's turn to blink back tears and cough. "'Course I will. And…if I don't…would you tell my Gaffer…"

"Certainly," said Frodo, wiping at his eyes roughly with a sleeve.

"…and tell Rosie Cotton not to be waiting for me no longer, if I won't be coming back home."

Frodo nodded tersely, his eyes sad. They heard footsteps and voices at the door.

"Well," said Sam, taking a deep breath and dashing away the tears on his own cheeks before turning towards the door, "I guess this is it, then, Mr. Frodo."

"I'm glad you're with me, Sam Gamgee, here at this end," said Frodo quietly.

The two hobbits walked to stand by the door, faces grim.


	4. The Council

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fan fiction, and written only for entertainment purposes. The characters belong to their respective creators: J.R.R. Tolkien, his estate, and possibly New Line Cinema; and Paramount Pictures and their writers.

**Author's notes: **First of all, thank you, dear reviewers, for all of the encouraging comments!

**Chapter 4: **The Council

Captain Jonathan Archer picked up one of the small swords that lay on the table in the conference room, where he awaited the arrival of the stowaways. He held the sword up in the bright light of the cabin; the hilt, decorated with serpentine figures, glittered with golden fire and the small red jewels set into the sword gleamed like rubies.

"It's a real piece of work," commented Trip, standing next to him. "And sharp, too." At Archer's questioning glance, he grinned at his best friend and captain. "I had to check them to be sure. These are authentic, not toys."

"So do you still think they're children?" asked Archer, carefully placing the sword back in its black sheath.

"No, not really. What kind of parents give their kids weapons like these?" Trip reached out a hand to run along the fine workmanship of the other sword. "Then again, they could be from a warlike people, I suppose, like the Klingons. I can't help but think they have something to do with the Xindi. I know T'Pol disagrees, but their appearance so soon after we went through the subspace corridor just can't be some kind of coincidence. Maybe they'll be more cooperative today, and we can get some answers. "

"Well, they've already tried to escape once today," said Archer, seating himself at one of the six chairs surrounding the table, "So I don't know if I'd bet on that." Scattered on the table were the items carried by the strange stowaways: The swords, two small staves, well-worn leather backpacks, and a strangely shaped bottle filled with a clear liquid. It was this item that concerned Archer most, for he had no idea if it was some type of dangerous chemical or drug, or perhaps some kind of weapon. It was set carefully on the table in front of him, cushioned by the folds of a small piece of clothing taken from one of the nearby backpacks. No one had been so careless yet as to touch it with bare hands, not knowing its purpose.

The door swished open and T'Pol entered, moving briskly to the chair to his left. Behind her came Hoshi, followed by two MACOs guiding the small humanoid creatures. The soldiers assisted the aliens into chairs opposite the captain and T'Pol, taking a few moments to adjust the seats to their smaller size, while Hoshi sat on their far left, next to the lighter-haired alien. Trip took the seat on Archer's right, quickly moving a backpack to block the swords from the creatures' view.

Archer first turned to Hoshi. "Can the translator handle their language?"

"Well, sir," she said, placing a PADD on the table in front of her. "It's far from perfect, and we don't have enough of a vocabulary of their language in the translator's database for any of us to be eloquent, but I think we'll be able to convey basic concepts to each other."

Archer nodded and settled himself in his chair, resting his hands in front of him, and regarded the two aliens sternly. "I am Captain Jonathan Archer, and my officers have told me that you've been stowing away on D Deck. Normally we welcome guests, but things have been a little tense around here lately. We'd like to know more about you, especially who you are and why you're here." No answer came, and he began to feel annoyed. From what he had been told so far, these two had already caused enough mischief on his ship. "I'm waiting."

Finally, the dark-haired one spoke, bowing slightly in his chair. "I am Frodo of Drogo, and this is Samwise of Hamfast. We came here mistake, and happy going, let you us, Captain Jonathan."

Well, it was not the best translation, but at least the alien seemed to be polite. Perhaps this could be settled faster than he had imagined, and they could soon be returned to their planet. There were still important questions that needed to be asked, however. "Are you working for the Xindi?"

"Who?" asked Frodo. He shook his head. "No time have I heard this word."

"It's not a word, they're a people," said Trip fiercely, leaning forward. "And you'd better be telling us the truth. Who knows how long you've been here? If you can disappear, you could've been hiding for weeks! How do we know you're not lying to us?"

"Hey! What saying are you to sir Frodo!" responded Samwise, clearly offended by Trip's tone. "What do we that is bad?"

"Well, you were sneaking around on D Deck, for starters," began Trip.

"Sneaking? D Deck?" repeated Samwise with a frown. "This I don't understand."

"I give you my saying," said Frodo to Archer seriously. "We have only now here come, now before us you found. And no time have I this Xindi before known."

"And how did you get here?" asked Archer calmly, laying a hand on Trip's arm and giving him an irritated glance. Getting angry now wouldn't give them any answers. It was difficult enough to make themselves understood with the rough translations.

"Oh, we-" the small creature paused, licking his lips nervously, every movement depicting uncertainty. "We went much. We – " At this point, the translation finally broke down into incomprehensible sounds, the translator unable to process what Frodo was saying. As the alien finished speaking he looked at Archer with pleading eyes, and the rough translation resumed. "I saying you, here will we not come, and will like too much to go, if you us let go, sir."

Abruptly Hoshi, who had been studying her PADD intently as Frodo spoke, looked up from it and tentatively asked him a question in the strange tongue. As far as Archer could tell, she seemed able to pronounce the words as easily as if she had already been studying them for hours. For all he knew, she probably had.

Frodo answered the linguist, nodding his head and repeating her words. "Mistake," he insisted again. "Mistake. If you us go let, will you us no time again see. We go."

"Hoshi?" asked Archer, uncertain of exactly what the alien was trying to convey, other than that he and his companion wanted off of Enterprise.

"Well sir, he says they found a magic door, that's how they got here."

"A magic door?"

"Well it might also be miraculous, or wondrous," she explained, finally looking up at the other officers in the room instead of her padd or the aliens. "Whenever they seem to encounter something with our technology, like the sink or when I tried to tell Samwise about the translator, they use this word. I think magic is an accurate translation."

"What do you suppose they mean by a magic door," asked Trip. "A transporter?"

"It would explain how they arrived here," stated T'Pol. "But a pre-industrial world should not possess such technology."

Archer leaned forward, his attention once more on the aliens in front of him. "What is the mistake he mentions? A mistake to come on board _Enterprise_?"

"I think he means they used the 'magic door' by mistake," said Hoshi. "But I could be wrong."

"A mistake?" Archer finally asked, willing to go along with the story, not really having any alternative. "And what planet are you from? What do you call yourselves?"

"Planet?" asked Samwise, as if the word made no sense to him, or had not been translated. "Sorry, Captain Jonathan, sir, what is planet?"

"Your world. What do you call where you come from? Your home?" Surely one of these words must have translated.

"Ah, home," said Frodo, finally understanding. "We –ah – we much went," he explained carefully, fiddling with a button on his jacket. It was clear to Archer that Frodo was not telling the truth about something; his very nervousness stated it was not something he was accustomed to doing. But without better communication it would be impossible to find out what.

"Frodo," said Archer, as gently as he could, not knowing why the creature was so nervous, and not wishing to alarm him further. "We know you didn't mean to come here, that it was a mistake. If you can tell us where your home is, we will bring you there." He wondered if his words had translated as both of the aliens frowned, so he clarified his words, using simple words. "We can go with you to your home."

"No!" cried Sam, clearly upset. "You can to Sûzat not go!"

"Sam, no!" said Frodo at the same time, looking at his friend with a fearful expression. Apparently, they must have agreed beforehand not to mention the name of their homeworld. He looked up, his eyes glancing apprehensively around the table at all of the individuals seated there. "You know this name, do you not?"

"No, I've never heard it before," answered Archer.

"No time?" The dark-haired alien seemed confused. "But, we know where we are."

Archer leaned back in his chair, regarding the frightened aliens in front of him. Frodo had his left hand on the table, clenched tightly into a fist. His other continued to fidget with the button on his jacket. Sam leaned away from Hoshi on the armrest of his chair, as close to Frodo as he could be while still sitting in a separate chair.

"And where do you think you are?"

Frodo glanced down at the table, either hesitant to answer the question, or giving it careful consideration. His right hand was clasped so tightly to the button he held that Archer was surprised it had not fallen off yet. Finally he looked up at Archer. "We are at Mordor," he said simply, yet with a look in his eyes betraying tension or even fear at admitting the name. Archer was temporarily at a loss for words. He felt, perhaps because the creature was of such small stature, a wish to protect him and reassure that there was nothing to fear here. But why did Frodo fear a place called Mordor?

"No, you're not," blurted Trip from beside Archer. "This is _Enterprise_," he explained, gesturing to indicate the whole ship. "She's a starship. A ship."

The aliens looked at him blankly, but Archer had not missed the look of shock on the aliens' faces when Trip dismissed Frodo's assumption that they were now in Mordor.

"What is ship?" asked Samwise.

"Um…it goes on water," began Trip uncertainly.

Hoshi came to his rescue. "Yes, a ship goes on water," she repeated. "When people go from this place to that place on water, they go with a ship." Her hands moved quickly above the table, accompanying her words, making motions depicting the movement of a boat on a water.

"A…ship," said Frodo, repeating the untranslated word. "Sam, like we had at Anduin. From Lothlórien." The other alien nodded in agreement at his explanation.

"You understand? Good," Hoshi encouraged. "But this ship, _Enterprise_, does not go on water. _Enterprise_ goes through the stars."

The aliens stared at her. "Stars?" asked Sam, dumbfounded.

She nodded.

"Yes, that's right," added Archer, backing up his Ensign.

Trip turned to indicate the window behind him with a hand. "We're not lying. Those are the stars we're passing now."

At his statement, Frodo sat up in his seat with a jerk, as if he had all of a sudden remembered something, and stared up at Archer in amazement. "Eärendil can you not be," he said emphatically, looking at Archer almost in challenge. "You look not as Elrond."

"Who?" asked Archer in confusion. "No, I told you my name is Jonathan Archer. I've never heard of anyone named Eärendil or Elrond."

"So, this is ship, and you know not Mordor," began Sam slowly. "Then, know you not," he paused, frowning, as if he did not want to finish his sentence.

"Yes," inquired Hoshi with a smile. "Do we not know what?"

"Sauron?" Sam whispered, his expression worried.

"No, I've never heard of it," said Archer emphatically. He started to get the impression that these two really might be refugees, as Trip had suggested. They certainly sounded as if they were running from something or someone. Hopefully they were not some kind of criminals on their world. For the moment, there was no way to know and he still had other questions he needed to ask them, if the translator would cooperate. He reached out to take the mysterious glass bottle found among their possessions. His bare fingers brushed it accidentally and without pausing to consider his actions, he gripped it tight in his hand. The instant his hand enclosed the phial, he gasped, feeling an intense feeling of peace flood into him. For a moment, he wished he were a more religious man, for the sensation evoked such a burst of positive energy that it deserved nothing less than words of praise and reverence. How could he have possibly thought this a weapon? A great feeling of hope for the survival of his own people against the Xindi grew in his heart, and he felt the tension that had been building in him over the disappointments of the last week begin to ebb away. Archer realized that he had closed his eyes, and opened them to see a white light emanating from the phial, spreading out between his fingers. Hoshi and Trip were staring at it, enraptured, along with the two aliens, while T'Pol seemed to be struggling with herself, her own eyes shut. Tears slipped unheeded down Hoshi's face. "What is this thing?" he asked, placing it gently back on the table.

Frodo answered. "It is – " the fluid yet unrecognizable sounds of his own language interrupted his speech, too many unfamiliar words at once disrupting the translation. It commenced a moment later. "- a light if lights dark are. It was to me said, that it light from star Eärendil has." He paused to glance back at his companion, then regarded the Starfleet officers once more, smiling. "You have good to me said," he said, relief evident in his voice. "You cannot of Sauron be."

"Hoi," agreed Samwise. "This not for them." He turned to Hoshi. "I am sorry for you before." He indicated her head, where she had received a bruise from their escape intent, now gone after Doctor Phlox's ministrations. "You are – " the translation broke off abruptly once more, broken sporadically as the translator recognized a word here and there.

"Yes, we had fear," stated Frodo, apparently referring to something Samwise had said. "As Sam has said, we thought you and your people for Sauron were, and we had much fear and not good were we." He bowed in his seat, and Samwise did the same. "Captain Jonathon, sorry does it me – " the translation turned garbled once more.

Archer leaned back in his seat, relieved that finally they had seemed to reach some kind of understanding at last. "Apology accepted. But did you really come here through a magic door?"

"Yes," answered Frodo, and began explaining. The description, however, once more went beyond the translator's capacities, lost on the humans and Vulcan in the room, with the possible exception of Hoshi.

The translation difficulties were becoming worse as they attempted to discuss more complex topics. Archer decided that it was unlikely they could progress much more in this conversation without more words in Hoshi's database. At least the two aliens now knew that they were not allied with this Sauron, whoever or whatever the name represented, and would not fear them, or at least no more then they might fear anyone twice their height.

"Look, this isn't working. We don't seem to be getting much further," he stated. "Hoshi, you need to spend some more time with the translator, get it to recognize more of their language."

"I will, sir," she said automatically. "This conversation has already been very helpful. But if I could work with them I'm sure I could have it functioning better by tomorrow. The syntax of their language seems similar to those of other languages I'm familiar with."

"All right," conceded Archer. "You're relieved of Bridge duty for today, unless we need you, of course. But I also want you to find out as much about our guests' planet as possible. We need to know about moons, continents, constellations, what other types of life are on the planet, that sort of thing." He turned to Trip. ""Is there some way to find out where they transported in from? Somehow I don't think they'll recognize this Sûzat on a star chart."

"Maybe. We could scan the ship, check for any strange energy levels in the past day, see if there's something to trace back to where they came from. But Captain," Trip paused, looking concerned. "I've got my hands full with the repairs, and that kind of detailed scanning will take a while."

"I will do it," volunteered T'Pol quietly. "It would seem that the further we travel, the less likely we will be to locate Frodo and Samwise's planet. The item which transported them must have a transportation range beyond which it will not function. Therefore, _Enterprise_ must have already passed their planet at some point."

"Are you saying that they transported onto _Enterprise_ while we were traveling at warp speed?" asked Trip. "How is that even possible? We can't even do that now."

"We have not orbited any planets recently, Commander," she pointed out. "How else could they have transported onto this ship in the past few days? And the most perplexing question yet remains: how did their primitive culture manage to build a transporter?"

"Those are the questions we're going to have to start thinking about," stated Archer. "But I see your point, T'Pol. Why don't you conduct a scan for the closest uninhabited planet? We could remain in orbit there while the rest of the repairs are made. On second thought, also do a scan for the closest uninhabited M-class planet; the crew could use some downtime, and we may as well kill two birds with one stone."

"I fail to see what the death of birds has to do with scanning for planets, " said T'Pol with a frown.

Archer gave a sigh of exasperation. "It's just an expression, T'Pol." He placed his hands flat on the table, preparing to rise. "I think we're done here."

"Captain?" asked Hoshi. She indicated the aliens' possessions spread across the table. "Can they have their belongings back?" The two aliens, obviously understanding either her words or their meaning, looked up at him hopefully.

Archer nodded. Now that these two knew they were not in a dangerous place, there seemed little harm in giving them back what was theirs. Except for the weapons. They could do some real damage with those. "Of course. Everything except the swords. Those should go in the Armory until we're sure they understand exactly where they are."

"We understand where we are," said Frodo quietly. "Ship _Enterprise_, not Mordor. We like our swords back to have. My sword was from my uncle, and is to me dear. I give to you my saying, we will not bad do."

Archer hesitated. Could he trust them? Looking down at the earnest faces, he decided he could. "All right. But they aren't to leave your quarters. Do you understand?"

"They must stay in your room," added Hoshi.

The aliens nodded.

Well, that was one problem solved. His only remaining concern was their ability to become invisible and perhaps go somewhere they should not. "Can you control your ability to disappear?"

"To what?" asked Samwise.

"When you cannot be seen," clarified Hoshi. At her words, Samwise gave Frodo a strange look, and Archer reminded himself to ask Hoshi to talk to them about this talent of theirs. "We do not like this," continued Hoshi, using simple words that might translate better. "Do not make it so we cannot see you again."

"So will I not do," answered Frodo tersely. His use of the singular attracted Archer's interest, and he almost asked about it, then decided against it, noting Frodo's apparent hesitancy to discuss the topic. Later, then. It would take some work to find their planet; the conversation could wait, no matter how intriguing it might be.

Archer dragged his thoughts from the topic of invisibility and returned to the conversation at hand. "All right, then. Hoshi, why don't you also give them a tour of the safer areas of the ship? I don't want them wandering around alone just yet, not when we can't understand each other very well, but it might put them more at ease."

She nodded, and Archer stood up, satisfied with the progress they had made. He looked at his officers, who were following his lead and also rising from their chairs. "Is there anything else?"

"Not from me," responded Trip. "And I've got to be getting back to Engineering before anything else breaks or goes offline."

T'Pol shook her head, and Hoshi was already assisting her charges as they hopped down from their tall seats. Archer led the way out of the room, glancing back once at the strange  
new itinerants the _Enterprise_ had acquired.

* * *

He heard the whisper first. It slipped into his thoughts as a low murmur before the words became clear, bringing to mind a memory that haunted him still. _"Cold be hand and heart and bone, and cold be sleep under stone."_

He caught his breath in horror. He had to get away! Opening his eyes, he saw all around him only blackness.

_"In the black wind the stars shall die…"_

The darkness before him dissolved into mist, and he found he could see again. In front of him was a horrible, twisted face staring at him with dead eyes, black blood staining its nose and mouth. Gasping, he scrambled backward, bumping into another cold, gray corpse, and leapt to his feet, retreating in revulsion.

Slowly, Frodo looked around himself. He stood on what appeared to be a battlefield. Bodies of Men and orcs and horses littered the plain, as well as those of monstrously large animals with snake-like noses. Oliphaunts, he recalled. Far away he could see a battle with the dreadful creatures. From the corner of his eye he noticed what seemed to be a large city some distance away and turned to see it better.

And froze for a moment in terror, choking, his right hand flying instantly to his chest, hoping to cover what must remain hidden with the meager protection of his own flesh. Desperately he threw himself to the ground to hide behind the dead orc corpse, its stench ignored.

He needed no ache in the wound of his shoulder to tell him who this was. In front of him was a nightmare creature he would never forget: the pale King, lord of the Nazgûl. The wraith's back was to Frodo as he faced a lone warrior.

"We know the Ring is no laughing matter," said a familiar voice, sounding as clear to him as if the words had just been spoken. _Merry! _"But we are going to do our best to help you against the Enemy." They had done their best, of course, his cousins, left behind at Parth Galen. He hoped they lived still and wished desperately to see their dear faces again.

As if in answer to his thoughts, the voice drifted once more to his ears. "It will be a punishment for any of us to be left behind…"

At that moment the sound of laughter broke through his memories and he looked up to see the warrior before the Nazgûl speak words Frodo could not hear. The warrior let fall his helmet to reveal long golden hair and the proud visage of a maiden, fearful yet undaunted by the wraith in front of her.

The great beast upon which the Witch-King sat leapt up and Frodo cowered under the orc corpse, holding his breath out of fear he would be noticed. As the warrior maid's sword cleaved the neck of the terrible steed, Frodo recognized a small, crawling figure just behind the wraith. Clad in an unknown livery and moving slowly toward the King as he stood was his little Brandybuck cousin.

"No, Merry!" he screamed, fear of his own discovery lost for a moment as he realized what Merry was about to do. _He'll see you! _ "What are you doing? Hide!" he whispered, unable now to tear his gaze away. The Nazgûl cried out in anger and hatred, and Merry stood up and stabbed him in the leg, then called a strange name that Frodo knew not. The maid drove her own sword into the creature as he fell forward, and Frodo saw his cousin's blade shatter. Merry held his right arm close and stood still as if dazed.

His attention drifted from the scene before him, drawn to a reddish light in the far distance that Frodo recognized immediately. Although it flashed over the field, it seemed not to see him. Relieved, he stood up and turned back once more, even as a dark fog began to slowly envelop the field.

His cousin's voice resounded once more in his ears. "Are you going to bury me?"

Frodo gasped in fear for Merry and ran forward unseeing, reaching out to him…

And woke, sitting up quickly, his heart pounding. He was in his bed on the ship _Enterprise_, Sam snoring beside him. Something warm and heavy was clutched tightly in his hand, and he opened it in the darkness to see the Ring, chain and all, lying there.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Obviously the events of Frodo's dream come from LotR. Excerpts and descriptions are from pgs. 137 (A Conspiracy Unmasked"); 179 ("Fog on the Barrow-Downs"); & 326 ("The Ring Goes South") in my edition of FotR, and pgs. 114-116 ("The Battle of the Pelennor Fields") in RotK. 


	5. Inside Information

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fan fiction, and written only for entertainment purposes. The characters belong to their respective creators: J.R.R. Tolkien, his estate, and possibly New Line Cinema; and Paramount Pictures and their writers.

**Chapter 5**: Inside Information

Frodo Baggins stood on the chair by the window in the hobbits' rooms, hands resting on the window, watching as the bright streaks of stars flew past. Behind him he heard the sounds of Sam washing the remainder of their clothing in the bathing room, humming as he did so. Following their meeting with Jonathon and his officers yesterday, they had been given a tour of the ship, including the bridge, where the starship was apparently piloted from, and the sickroom. Phlox, the goblin-like creature who had shown Frodo how the basins within the bathing room worked, was also a healer of some degree. Frodo and Sam had then spoken with Hoshi for some time so she could add words to her translating machine. The young lady seemed to be quite a scholar, and knew more languages than anyone he had ever known, even Bilbo. The hobbits had been left to themselves since last night when she departed to work on her machine.

The door-chime sounded behind him, and Frodo turned. "Half a moment!" he called, as he leapt off the chair and scurried over to answer the door, reaching up for the door's control.

Phlox stood in the doorway, holding a large carton made of the same strange, smooth material common to many items on the ship.

Belatedly remembering his manners, the hobbit stepped to the side, his arm falling awkwardly to his side, not having a door to hold open. It was a strange feeling. "Do come in," he said, gesturing with a hand.

"Don't mind if I do!" answered the healer, beaming. Setting down his burden, he looked around. "Where's your friend?" He looked beyond Frodo. "Ah, there you are. Samwise is it?"

"Just Sam is fine, sir," said the other hobbit as he approached, a towel in his hands. He looked down at the carton, which reached to the hobbits' knees. "What's this, then?"

"Ah, I've brought you some presents." Phlox reached down to pull off the cover of the box, placing a smaller box off to one side and revealing brightly covered fabric. "Just think of it as your birthday."

"Begging your pardon, but don't you mean, _your_ birthday?" asked Sam. "Seeing as how we're getting the presents?"

Phlox blinked at him. "Yes, different customs for different people," he said. "I've spent too much time with humans, it seems. Well, these are some clothes for you from our supply of civilian clothing. We've adjusted some of the smaller sizes. They won't fit you perfectly, of course, and I suppose you'll probably like to have them altered later. But they are in better shape than what you have."

Frodo glanced down at his own torn and patched tunic and breeches, and felt his face go hot. Certainly from his appearance now it would be hard to tell he was the Master of Bag End. Reaching into the carton, he pulled out a vividly green shirt, with two buttons near the collar. It was a little long, and the collar rather wide, but it was clean and clearly new. "Thank you very much," he responded as Sam pulled out a pair of breeches made of a blue material.

"You can look through them later," commented Phlox. "As you like. Since our translator appears to be functioning much better now, no doubt due to Hoshi's dedication, I'd like to examine both of you for any illnesses or injuries."

"We're fine now, sir," said Sam. "I haven't been feeling poorly since, well, since them boats on the river. Unless you count during the Marshes, and that was mostly my stomach not liking the water or the smell, more likely than not. And Mr. Frodo –"

"I am well," said Frodo quickly, before Sam could mention knife wounds or spear thrusts. He had felt reluctant enough to show even Aragorn his injuries; to have some foreign healer he barely knew look at him was unthinkable. Worse yet, Phlox might see the Ring. "Really, I've nothing to complain about, but thank you for asking."

* * *

"It isn't just for yourselves that I need to examine you," explained Phlox gently, lowering himself to the hobbits' height. "You may not understand, but you could be endangering the other people on this ship, by bringing aboard a sickness with you from your planet. I need to be sure this has not been the case. Even if you feel fine, you can still carry an illness from your planet, and if we are not familiar with it, we will become sick." He pointed to Sam's legs. "I see you also have many cuts. I can help with those, too. Trust me, I'm a doctor. I don't hurt my patients." 

Phlox regarded them seriously, certain neither of the aliens – hobbits, Hoshi had called them – would agree. However, how else could he explain that they could be carrying potentially harmful bacteria, when they could have no notion of what bacteria was? He had already delayed examining them due to the translation difficulties and their obvious mistrust of the _Enterprise_ crew; thankfully no one as yet had reported to Sick Bay with any strange disease. If they were carrying an unknown bacteria he had to know now; it could wait no longer.

Fortunately, the darker-haired hobbit finally nodded, apparently accepting the doctor's explanation. Looking around the room the Denobulan noticed a chair near the window and pulled it to the center of the room, dropping the medical kit he had brought with him on the nearby table.

"So, who wants to be first?" he asked in his most cheery voice, the one which had coaxed a smile out of even fatally injured patients. Sam, the sandy-haired one, stepped forward with a glance at Frodo, and Phlox helped him into the chair. Sam's hands went to remove his tunic, and the doctor abruptly realized that part of their hesitancy was due to thinking they had to undress in front of a stranger.

"Oh no, no need," said Phlox quickly, holding up a tricorder from the small medical kit he had brought along. "I can scan you with much less fuss." The hobbit looked at him with a frown. Perhaps he didn't understand. Pressing the buttons of the small item with practiced fingers and almost without thought, he ran the tricorder up and down the hobbit's body, collecting scans not only of the alien's health, but also statistics of his present condition, so he would have something to compare against should Samwise become injured in the future.

"What does it tell you?" asked Frodo, coming up to the doctor and peering up at the machine, a concerned look on his face.

"It tells me a bit about hobbits," explained Phlox carefully. "About your physiology, which I need to know should one of you get hurt or become sick. Hmm, let's see. It tells me Sam has no known bacteria – that's no known sicknesses. Physical condition, age, all sorts of things I need to know as a doctor." Consulting the piece of medical equipment he saw that the age was higher than he expected, if hobbits aged at a rate similar to humans, his usual patients. "Did you injure your head not too long ago?"

"Yes. It's healed," Sam reassured him. "Strider looked at it - he knows about healing, he does, and looked after all of us at one time or another - and it was cared for by the elves while we stayed in their forest. They know a thing or two about putting people back to rights, I'd say. There's nothing there for you to be looking at or worrying over, sir."

Phlox blinked at the reference to unfamiliar names, reminding himself to later add the fact that elves were healers to the file on the hobbits' world. His attention returned once more to the small alien before him. "You're thirty-seven years old?"

"Thirty-nine!" insisted Sam, who seemed somewhat insulted.

Phlox made the necessary adjustments. "And if I may ask, you're considered an adult, among your people?"

"Yes sir," said Sam, as he swung his legs back and forth in the chair. "I came of age seven years ago, I did."

"So, a young adult?"

"I suppose so. Some folk would say so, and my Gaffer among them." The sandy-haired hobbit scratched his head absently. "I'm not married or anything yet," he offered.

Now there was an interesting tidbit of information. "So your people marry? How many wives do they normally have? Or husbands?"

Sam chuckled as if he had made a joke, and Frodo laughed loudly, a bright, merry sound that rang out in the room. "Isn't one wife enough?" asked Sam. "What ever would I do with more than one? I don't even want to know about a lady having more than one husband! The poor lass!"

Phlox began to feel insulted at their response. It wasn't the hobbits' faults; they clearly had little experience with other species' mating habits. "I'll have you know," he said, feeling somewhat hurt, "that not all people are monogamous. Among my people – Denobulans, that is – it is common to have more than one wife and husband. I have three wives back home, and they each have two other husbands of their own."

"No!" exclaimed Sam, staring at him. Frodo was coughing, plainly trying to unsuccessfully hide another laugh.

"Yes," said Phlox mournfully, digging out a hypospray from his kit with the appropriate medicine to prevent infection of the impressive scrapes on Sam's legs. At least humans had treated his mating customs with a little more respect. Perhaps now might not be the most opportune moment to mention his sleeping habits, if they found his wives humorous.

After applying the medicine to Sam's injuries, he helped the short creature down. "Your turn, Frodo," he stated, turning to the other.

Sobering immediately, Frodo clambered into the chair and settled himself as Phlox reset the tricorder for the next readings.

"Tell me," commented Phlox as he began to scan him, "are all of your people this height, or do you have some condition that renders the two of you so?"

"It's quite normal," said Frodo. "We've both stopped growing years ago. Some Men call us 'halflings,' because of our size."

There were more than just hobbits and elves on their planet? Remarkable. "You have other sentient species on your world?"

"Species?" Frodo frowned, sounding out the word cautiously. Perhaps it had not translated well.

"Other people? Creatures who are not hobbits or elves who can think, who you can talk to?"

"Oh yes. There are Men, and Dwarves, and Hobbits, and Elves. And wizards, of course, and the great Eagles."

"Don't forget Orcs," interrupted Sam. "And trolls, goblins, giant spiders, wraiths…"

"I'd like to forget wraiths while I can," said Frodo, shuddering, his right hand moving to touch his left shoulder briefly.

"And all of these creatures can think, can reason?" asked Phlox, astounded, as they both nodded. What type of world did they come from, that could support so many varieties of sentient species? Once their planet had been located he would have to convince the Captain to let them study it. That type of diversity on one planet was not found so easily.

He ran the tricorder over Frodo, who also bore no known harmful bacteria. The hobbit did appear to have received a traumatic injury to the shoulder not so long ago, as well as some heavy bruising around his ribs. What had the two small creatures been doing recently to acquire so many injuries? All of the maladies but the shoulder wound were healed now.

"Hmm, I see you're about thirty-three years old, correct?" At Frodo's expression, he consulted the scan again. Perhaps he had adjusted it too much. "Thirty-two?"

The hobbit was shaking his head.

"Fifty," he stated.

Phlox considered the tricorder again. How could it be off by almost twenty years? Knowing it to be pointless, he shook and tapped the small device, but the reading did not change. Eventually, he gave up after the tricorder refused to change its reading, and decided to make a note in Frodo's file later, as well as have someone in Engineering run a diagnostic on the tricorder. This would all have been much more easily done in Sickbay, and he might have gathered even more information about their species, but he doubted the aliens would have felt at ease among all of the unknown machinery there.

"Well, Frodo, you seem to have recovered well from your previous injuries, as well. If you will permit me, I will also treat these scratches on your leg –" He pulled another hypospray out of his bag as the hobbit obligingly held out his legs for treatment. Once finished, Phlox collected his equipment and stood up. "Should you have any medical problems from now on, you can find me in Sickbay, that's on E deck, if you remember."

They nodded, thanking him politely for his visit and the new clothing, and the doctor left the guest quarters as the hobbits returned to their investigation of the plastic container of clothing.

* * *

Hoshi sat back in her chair, dropping her PADD on the table in front of her, finally satisfied with the translator's ability to handle the hobbits' language. It had been an exhausting process, but she was confident now that there would be few problems. 

In the beginning, she worried they would never communicate with the aliens, as hesitant as the hobbits were in talking to them. However, Commander Tucker had come to her a few hours after leaving the guest quarters with the necessary information, although his means of obtaining it had disturbed her at the time.

_She had awakened to the sound of her door indicating a visitor, and stumbled over to it, rubbing her eyes to wake up. Opening it, she saw Commander Tucker leaning on the doorframe, holding a PADD. Didn't he ever sleep?_

_"Here you are," he said, offering her the device. When she looked at him questioningly, he continued. "It's a recording of the aliens talking."_

_She was awake immediately. "Where did you get this? How?" As she reached out to take the PADD, she noticed the dark circles around the chief engineer's eyes. "Have you been awake this whole time?"_

_He shrugged off her concern. "Oh, I couldn't get to sleep now. There's too much work to be done. "_

_"Well, how did you get this?" she repeated, indicating the PADD._

_"You don't really want to know," he said darkly. "And it's not perfect – you've got all the sounds made in the guest quarters, so there's water running and noise from things being moved around, but you've got them talking on there, too."_

_She frowned. Recording them without their knowledge wasn't right. In fact, it was more than a little unethical._

_He noticed her expression. "Look, Hoshi. We have to know if these creatures are somehow connected to the Xindi. It may not have been the nicest thing to do, but we need to know what they're saying to each other, and we need to know it now. For all we know they could've been trying to sabotage the ship, or worse. It's bad enough we're stuck here in the past, and have to hope the ship will survive another hundred or so years, just so we can get the Xindi before they get Earth. But now we have these stowaways, and we know nothing about them."_

_She sighed. Would the Captain approve? Maybe, he had changed on this last mission; they all had. "Does the Captain know?"_

_"I'll tell him." Tucker straightened, preparing to leave._

_"Well, good night, then, and thank you. And, sir – get some sleep?"_

_He nodded. 'I'll try. Good night, Hoshi."_

Even after receiving the recording, it had taken a while for her to decipher the language enough for the computer to begin its analysis. She smiled, remembering. Originally she had dismissed the words spoken by Frodo to Phlox simply as 'thank you.' However, when she heard similar sounds being spoken several times while the hobbits were apparently exploring the bathroom, she had finally recognized her first word in their language: nîn, which meant 'water.' After this discovery, other words had followed, and now the computer had an adequate grasp of the hobbit language to translate it reliably.

Feeling pleased with herself and satisfied at solving another linguistic puzzle, Hoshi stood, stretching, and decided to head to the Mess Hall for a congratulatory cup of hot chocolate, and dinner. Travis had even mentioned rumors earlier of a movie being shown after dinner tonight.

* * *

He dreamt again. He knew this with certainty as he opened his eyes to the scene of another horrific battlefield. In front of him stood the Black Gate of Mordor, but he felt no fear now as he recalled that in these dreams, the Dark Lord's Eye could not see him, though he stood before the Morannon itself. Looking around him in dismay Frodo saw the ground of Cirith Gorgor, covered with the corpses of Men and horses, orcs and gruesome trolls. He shut his eyes for a moment, willing himself to awaken. He had no desire to be here, no desire to see this dream unfold. But nothing happened. 

With a sigh he opened his eyes and stepped forward, walking carefully around the large corpses. The Men wore the livery of Gondor, the same as Boromir had. Although they must have fought valiantly given the large number of enemy dead strewn across the field, they had clearly been outnumbered. Overhead carrion birds descended here and there to land on the dead. The stench of the rotting bodies was nearly unbearable, worse even in its own way than that of Shelob. He felt disgusted. Sauron's armies had not even enough honor to bury their own dead, let alone those who had so bravely fought them. He wondered what had happened here.

With a screech, a large vulture, almost as big as he himself, swooped down, nearly knocking the hobbit over. It landed on a body near Frodo. He stepped aside as the creature fanned his wings while beginning his feast, and could not stop himself from glancing down at the dead body.

He gasped and turned aside, retching. He knew that face. _It is just a dream_, he told himself. _It's not real._ He looked up as the vulture crowed in pleasure. _It doesn't matter!_ Angrily he flew at the bird, hands outstretched.

"Away! Away with you, foul thing! Find yourself another meal!" The bird fought back, pecking at his hands. Frodo looked around hurriedly and found a spear, with which he faced the vulture once more. "Away! Shoo! Let him lie in peace!" He prodded it unkindly with the weapon, and the bird launched itself into the air.

Sadly, he stepped back, and bent down, closing the eyes of the ravaged face and reaching to pull the Man's cloak over him. Was this the fate of Isildur's Heir, then? To die before the Black Gate of Mordor, his army slaughtered by Sauron's unending and unmerciful hordes? For what purpose had Aragorn led Gondor's forces here? Had the hour truly become so desperate? He sighed, and settled his arms on his knees as he considered the situation.

That it had something to do with himself and the Ring, Frodo knew without a doubt. His heart knew it. Had he and Sam never managed to return to Middle-earth to destroy the Ring? Or had they been captured, and the Dark Lord taken the Ring? Absently he glanced down at the ground and saw Andúril lying next to Aragorn, as if it had fallen from his hand while he fought the massive troll whose body was beside him. _At least he gave good account of himself_, thought Frodo, as he reached down to pick up the large sword.

Underneath the troll's body rested a hobbit's foot. Frodo fell to his knees, throwing out his right hand to stop himself from falling atop the wasting corpse of the troll. He shut his eyes, shaking.

_I will awaken now_, he thought to himself. _Please!_ He opened his eyes to see the bleak display yet before him, the foot covered in cinnamon-colored hair still there. Finally, Frodo stood up, determined to move the troll, yet fearing to see the hobbit beneath it. He shoved the troll corpse with all his strength, but it did not move. Once more, he pushed, with no result. Over and over again he tried, until he was breathing heavily, and tears ran freely down his face. Frodo collapsed onto his knees once again, defeated and unheeding of the sharp rocks that bit his legs, his face falling into his upturned hands. He was simply too small, and the troll too large to be moved.

"I'm sorry, Pippin-lad," he murmured. "So very sorry. How could I have let you come on this wretched quest? You should have stayed in the Shire."

How long he sat there, the hobbit did not know. He looked up as a stream of sunlight pierced the clouds, and realized the scene had changed. No longer was his vision full of corpses; now around him stood barren hills. Wind grabbed his hair and shirt, tugging them about harshly. For a moment he thought himself once more on the terrible plains they had arrived at after passing through the Dead Marshes. Yet as he looked more closely about himself, Frodo realized with a growing sense of horror and unease that it could not be so.

For doors and paths were built into the dry, dusty hills, although most seemed in disrepair. Windows covered with a brown film peeked out of hillsides, while here and there he could see the remains of a chimney sticking out of the dull landscape. Yet the shape of the hills felt familiar to him, and finally he realized where he stood. It was Hobbiton.

Grit stung his eyes as he rose, flung by the swirling wind. Was this the end to the vision given Sam by the Lady's mirror? Surely this could not have happened, the Shire could not have been so transformed, if the Ring were destroyed?

Anger filled him suddenly, hot and swift. He hated It. It was slowly consuming him, day by day, and if he did not destroy it, then its Master would consume the world. Giving a wordless cry Frodo pulled the Ring from around his neck and threw it across the cracked ground, where it rolled, then lay still, covered in brown dust. He wished fervently that it was already gone and melted into nothingness.

As in his previous dream, a voice from his memories whispered over the wind and into his ears.

_"We cannot destroy it by any craft that we here possess…"_

Abruptly, the moment passed and Frodo saw the Ring lying in the dirt of the road. The sunlight glittered over it, and he went to retrieve it with a sob. Even masked with grime it was beautiful, perfect. It shone as he sank down for the third time onto his knees, cleaning the exquisite band of gold with his shirt. His vision swam through tears, and he felt himself falling.

* * *

Sam woke suddenly with a start. At once he looked to his side, where Frodo should have been sleeping, but he was not there. "Frodo!" he called, alarmed. "Mr. Frodo!" 

"Here, Sam," came a voice from below the bed. Sam leaned over the edge of the mattress to see Frodo sitting up from the floor with a groan, supporting himself with his left hand while his right remained clasped around something. The Ring, Sam realized.

"What are you doing down there?" Sam rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and yawned as Frodo stood up. "It's not like you to be sleeping on the floor when there's a bed to be had, and so near, too."

Frodo laughed. "Samwise, do you think I was lying here on purpose? I must have fallen off the bed in my sleep." Frodo slipped the Ring's chain back over his head as he spoke.

Sam watched Frodo carefully. Having just awoken, his eyes had no need to adjust to the darkness of the room, and so in spite of the lack of light he could see Frodo quite clearly, for he stood just before the bed. The merriment in his master's voice did not match the expression on Frodo's face.

"Did you have another nightmare, then?"

"I did," admitted Frodo, quickly turning somber. "A nightmare…or a vision. I cannot tell the difference."

Sam sat up, moving to the side and unthinkingly offering a hand in assistance, as Frodo clambered back onto the large Man-sized bed. "A vision?" he asked in concern. "You thought so last night as well. What do you think it might mean? And where would such a vision come from?"

"As to the latter, I cannot say," answered Frodo, tugging on his nightshirt as he settled himself into a cross-legged position and wrapped one of their now many blankets around himself. "And perhaps it was only a bad dream, and means nothing more than that I should not partake of sweets after supper. But coming so soon after the other…"

"You think you dreamed it a-purpose?" asked Sam, pulling his own blanket close. "That there's a reason you saw whatever it is you saw."

Frodo nodded. "I saw…horrible things, Sam," he whispered. "Aragorn dead, and another battle, this one before the Black Gate. Pippin…" he stopped, seemingly unable to go on, his gaze falling to the blue sheet of the bed.

Sam took one of his master's hands. "It's all right," he soothed. "You don't have to speak of it to me, if it's so awful."

"I saw Pippin dead," continued Frodo tonelessly. "He was crushed by a troll in the same battle that killed Aragorn. I saw the Shire, destroyed and ruined, with nothing left alive."

Sam closed his mouth, his intended words forgotten. What did you say about a dream like that? At last he cleared his throat. "You know, Mr. Frodo, maybe you ought not to sleep with it around your neck no more." At Frodo's startled look, he went on with his advice. "Maybe you could put it in a pocket or under your pillow or something, while you sleep. Maybe if you were not touching it directly, you wouldn't have such terrible dreams. I had those same sweets after supper too, sir, and I had no trouble sleeping."

Frodo chuckled quietly. "Perhaps that _would_ help."

"But you said you thought it might have a purpose," said Sam. "What is it?"

"That we need to destroy the Ring, and soon."

"Right," said Sam slowly, regarding his master closely. Wasn't that what they had been trying to do, all these long months since leaving Rivendell?

"You misunderstand, Sam," cautioned Frodo. "I haven't forgotten our quest! How could I?"

"Then what are you saying?"

"In my dream, just before I woke, I heard the words of Elrond as he spoke them at the council in Rivendell. Do you recall them? 'We cannot destroy it by any craft that we here possess.' he said." Frodo looked up once more at Sam, his eyes shining. His right hand crept up to touch the Ring. "By any craft that we possess, Sam. These people on Enterprise have different crafts and skills than we of Middle-earth. Perhaps they can destroy it with one of their great machines."

"I don't know, Mr. Frodo. There's wondrous things here, to be sure, but how can they have something as strong as a Fiery Mountain?"

"Every day that we wait here while T'Pol searches for Middle-earth is one day less that we have to make it to Mount Doom. How much longer do you suppose we have before it's too late?" Frodo's hand fell back down to his side. "Before Sauron's forces have taken over everything we hold dear?"

"So you want to ask if these folks can melt it somehow?" asked Sam, considering the idea.

"Yes."

"What if they try to take it from you? I don't like it, Mr. Frodo."

"Everything that has to do with the Ring is dangerous, Sam," commented Frodo. "They will not try to take it if we do not tell them what it is. They'll think it a bauble, nothing more."

Sam thought about it, scratching his head. "We need to tell them it's evil, don't you think, sir? What if something happened? It wouldn't be right, otherwise."

Frodo sighed. "No, you're right, after all. Very well, we tell them our quest, and we ask them to destroy it, if they can."

"Do you think we can trust them?" asked Sam worriedly.

"Maybe not all of them, but some of them, yes."

"They aren't like Captain Faramir or Strider, or even like Boromir, Mr. Frodo," cautioned Sam. "These Men are different. "

"I know," said Frodo, and fell silent for a long moment. "Don't you remember what Hoshi was telling us? They're fighting a war against these Xindi. They were trying to destroy a great weapon that the Xindi used against their home, when by chance they went backwards in time, as strange as that seems." He reached out to place a hand on Sam's shoulder, looking at him intently. "They were trying to _destroy a weapon_, Sam. They will understand about the Ring, I think. I feel we can trust them."

Sam nodded, remembering Hoshi's story from that night at dinner. Frodo's reasoning made sense. Yawning widely, he also recalled that it was the middle of the night, and they had been invited to visit the bridge again directly after breakfast. "I hope you're right," he said around a second yawn. "But we won't be convincing anyone of anything if we're asleep on our feet tomorrow, if you take my meaning."

Frodo nodded and gathered up his blanket before lying down on his side. Sam turned on his own side, facing the wall and slapping at his pillow as he made himself comfortable. The last thing he heard as his eyes drifted shut was his master's soft voice.

"Sleep well, Sam."

* * *

**Author's notes: **Elrond's line comes from p. 319 of my edition of FotR ("The Council of Elrond"). 


	6. Unexpected

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fan fiction, and written only for entertainment purposes. The characters belong to their respective creators: J.R.R. Tolkien, his estate, and possibly New Line Cinema; and Paramount Pictures and their writers. 

**Chapter 6:** Unexpected

Trip left his quarters, smoothing back his hair as he made his way toward the Captain's Mess. Behind him he heard footsteps and turned to see T'Pol approaching.

"Hey, T'Pol!" he greeted the Vulcan. "Are you coming to dinner, too?"

"I was on my way to my quarters."

"Didn't the Captain invite you? I'm sure he wouldn't mind another person."

"I have a great deal of work to do with my energy scans of the ship. And the Captain has said the hobbits requested a private meal. I do not think my presence is necessary."

"The hobbits? I didn't know they'd be there." He moved aside to let T'Pol have access to her quarters. "How are the scans going?"

"I have not yet determined the hobbit's planet of origin." If he did not know better, he almost could have sworn he saw a look of concern on her face. "I do not know if I will ever be able to do so. I must admit, I have not made much progress."

"Oh, I'm sorry, T'Pol. Well, maybe I can find some time tomorrow to help? If you could use some?"

"You have no need to apologize or feel sorry. Perhaps you should feel sorry for the hobbits, if we cannot bring them back to their homeworld." She stopped in front of the door to her chambers. "However, I could use some assistance in analyzing the scans of the remaining decks."

"You know we've decided to start up movie night again," remarked Trip. "To get the crew's morale up. It's tonight, at 2100 hours. Will you be there?"

"As I said, I still have much work to do." She glanced back at him, one hand on the door's control. "What will you be showing?"

Pleased that she seemed interested, he decided not to tease, for once. Maybe this would be the night she would actually come to the event. She attended movie night only rarely. "Oh, I don't know. We're still taking suggestions, if you'd like something special." He grinned, unable to stop himself from provoking her any longer. "You know, movie night is a great oppurtunity to observe humans and their emotions. You might learn something."

"I am aware of that. Perhaps a documentary?"

"A docu— Now, be reasonable, T'Pol! A documentary would scare off everybody else, or bore us to tears. I was thinking more along the lines of a comedy." She stepped inside the door, and it began to swish shut. "T'Pol? I'll see you later?"

"Perhaps," came the answer as the door shut. Sighing in frustration, Trip made his way down the corridor.

* * *

Porthos barked and ran to the door of the Captain's Mess a few seconds before the door chime sounded, standing on guard with tail wagging excitedly. Placing the PADD he had been reading on the side table, Jonathan Archer opened the door to see not only Trip, but also the small aliens waiting there. Trip was out of uniform, wearing another of his outrageous shirts, this one a bright yellow Hawaiian shirt with colorful surfers and palm trees vividly decorating it. The hobbits had changed for dinner since he had last seen them this morning. Frodo's clothing oddly reminded Archer of a shorter version of a young English gentleman of a few centuries ago, as he had seen in paintings in museums, complete with a waistcoat and jacket. Only his bare, furry feet and shorter pants defied the image. Sam, however, looked even more foreign than usual, wearing a bright plaid shirt of green, blue, and white, and the very human pattern only seemed to emphasize how alien he truly was. Fleetingly, Archer wondered what had possessed Phlox to include plaid among the clothing choices. 

"I hope you're all hungry for dinner," commented Archer as they entered. "I hear Chef has been working hard tonight."

"Oh, yes sir," said Sam enthusiastically. "I've been looking forward to dinner all day!" He stopped as he came into the room, staring at Porthos. "What's that?"

"That's my dog, Porthos." Archer came over and bent down to place a hand on Porthos.

"Boldly going where no dog has gone before," said Trip with a smile as he made his way to the table and took a carrot stick from the tray of hors d'oeuvres.

"Why, I've never seen a dog that looks like that before," said Sam, slowly reaching out a hand to let Porthos sniff it. "He's a beauty, he is!" Frodo had backed away cautiously, and went to join Trip at the table, climbing into a chair.

"Do you have dogs on Arda, Sam?" asked Archer as he went to retrieve Porthos's tennis ball from where it sat forgotten in the corner of the room. In her report on the hobbits, Hoshi had informed him that their original impression had been wrong; the name of the hobbits' world was Arda, Sûzat being the name of their homeland on the planet.

"Yes, or something very similar to yours, but they're much bigger. I don't think I've ever met one so small," answered Sam. "I wish we had some dogs this size. But, begging your pardon, what's his job here? Doesn't seem to me that there'd be much for him to protect on a ship like this."

"Oh, he's not really here for protection, Sam, He's mostly just here to give me companionship," explained Archer as he gave the hobbit the ball. "He likes to chase that, but try not to throw it too hard. It's a small room."

"Here, lad!" called Sam, as he waved the ball in front of Porthos's attentive nose, and began to play with the dog.

"Don't you like dogs, Frodo?" asked Trip as Archer joined them at the table and chose a broccoli spear from the tray.

"Not really," answered the hobbit. "I had a frightening experience with them when I was a lad."

"What happened?" asked Trip.

"Oh, well..." Frodo hesitated, his face flushing slightly. "I was taking something I shouldn't have been from a farmer's land. Pass me a carrot, will you please, Commander?"

"Trip's fine," said the engineering officer as he pushed the tray close enough for Frodo to take some carrotsticks. "You were stealing? I don't believe it! And you seem like such a nice guy!"

"I was young and foolish," stated Frodo dismissively. "And young hobbits like to eat. Why are you called Trip?" he asked as Sam took a seat next to him. "I thought your name was Tucker."

"You're changing the subject," objected Trip. "Tucker's my last name, my family name. My full name's Charles Tucker III, and Trip is ... Why are you two staring at me like that?"

"You're a Man!" protested Frodo. "Men don't have family names, save for those in Bree."

"Of course we do," said Trip. "Didn't the Captain introduce himself to you as Jonathan Archer?"

"He did," answered Frodo. "And for a moment I wondered at it, but at the time, the translation was so difficult to make out I thought it was just another word that I could not understand. Once the translating machine was repaired, I thought it a military term, though a strange one, for I've seen neither bow nor arrow since we came here." He nodded at Archer. "So your full name then, is Jonathan Archer, and yours Charles Tucker. What is Hoshi's?"

"Hoshi Sato," said Archer.

"And T'Pol?"

"T'Pol doesn't have a last name," stated Trip. "Neither does Phlox. Aliens don't usually, or at least none we've encountered so far. You don't, do you?"

"Of course we do!" said Sam, echoing Trip's earlier statement.

"We didn't name ourselves so, only because we've so rarely encountered Men with family names," explained Frodo. "I apologize for the misunderstanding. We have never properly introduced ourselves. What terrible manners you must think we have." He slid out of his chair, Sam copying him, and bowed in an old-fashioned manner, like an actor in a Shakespeare play. "Frodo Baggins, at your service."

Sam also bowed. "Samwise Gamgee, at your service."

Archer smiled, his hours of Starfleet courses on interspecies courtesy he had taken coming to mind. Standing, he also bowed in a rough imitation of their actions. "Captain Jonathan Archer, at your service." He motioned to Trip, who also repeated the apparently ritual greeting.

"At yours, and your family's," answered the two hobbits almost simultaneously.

"At last, a right _proper_ introduction," stated Sam with a satisfied nod of his head as the two hobbits returned to the table.

"Captain," said Frodo as he settled once more into his seat next to Trip and across from Archer, "I wanted to ask you. Has the Lady T'Pol been able to find our world yet?"

Unable to give any good news, Archer chose to be direct. "No, Frodo, she hasn't. I'm sorry." He forced a smile onto his face as he saw their disappointed faces. "Don't you two give up hope yet. We have some very skilled people on this ship, and we've managed near miracles before. We'll find Arda."

Trip nodded. "I'm going to be helping T'Pol tomorrow. It may just take some time. You have to be patient. If we'd transported you here, it wouldn't be such a problem, you know. But you somehow got yourselves here, in the middle of the night, when some of our systems weren't even online. Trying to figure out where you came from in that kind of a situation is complicated work."

At that moment the door leading to the galley chimed, and the steward entered bearing dinner and a much needed change in conversation. The enticing smell wafted into the room as he removed the hors d'oeuvres and placed dishes and glasses in front of them.

"You do drink wine?" asked Archer as the steward presented the bottle. The two hobbits nodded, but he noticed their gaze seemed glued to the tray of baked mushrooms sitting in the center of the table. Hoshi had mentioned mushrooms as the very first word they mentioned in her conversation with them on food, so Archer had thought it a symbolic gesture to ask Chef to prepare some. Besides, Chef's baked mushrooms were out of this world.

Now, seeing the hobbits' rapt attention on the dish, he wondered if he had made a mistake. He exchanged a look with Trip, who had apparently also noticed the aliens' strange reaction. Once the steward had left, Archer decided to broach the topic.

"Would you two like some mushrooms?" he asked, nodding to Trip to move it closer to the two hobbits, since he was out of reach.

"Yes!" they cried at the same time. Archer smiled. At least he had not made some horrible faux pas, as had happened to him more than once during his tenure as Captain of _Enterprise_.

"Who's first?" asked Trip, his right arm, which held the plate of steaming mushrooms, wavering between the two hobbits.

"I am," said Frodo as Sam interrupted.

"Now, Mr. Frodo, normally I'd not say anything, but it's just not right!"

"What's not right, Sam?" asked Frodo with a frown.

"Well, sir, you got more than your share from Mrs. Maggot, you did. I'd think it's my turn to serve them."

"Your turn?" protested Frodo as Trip's arm began to lower, tiring from holding the plate so long in the air. "That was months ago! Why, in Halimath."

"Yes, sir. And that was the last time we've had mushrooms, and you were serving them. 'Tis my turn."

Frodo seemed to consider this, and just as Trip opened his mouth to speak, nodded at the other hobbit with a smile. "Why, I do believe you're right, Master Gamgee. I'm being greedy. It's your turn." He turned to Trip. "You may give Sam the mushrooms."

"Thanks for making such a quick decision," grumbled Trip as Sam took the plate in both hands. He gave Frodo a surprisingly large helping, especially considering how small the alien was, then with a quick look at Archer and Trip, gasped, whispering something quickly to Frodo. The other hobbit looked startled, then his face reddened as he looked away from the mushrooms and up to the humans watching them.

"We're terribly sorry," said Frodo, grinning wryly. "Would you also care for some mushrooms?"

* * *

Dinner progressed quietly, with the hobbits giving their food the full appreciation Chef's cooking deserved. Archer was shocked at how much food the smaller beings could put away. His original comment to Chef that he thought they must eat about the same as children the same size had been quickly corrected as yet another lesson in underestimating aliens. 

Once the main meal was cleared away, their dessert was brought in: slices of pecan and pumpkin pie, coffee, and tea. As Frodo poured milk into his tea, Archer realized that the meal was almost over and they had not yet spoken of the reason the hobbits had been invited to dinner.

"So, Frodo," he began, spooning sugar into his own mug of coffee. "You told me you had something to ask us? I think the time has come for you to tell me what you wanted to discuss."

The dark-haired hobbit nodded, sipping at his tea. "I did want to speak with you of something. Only, I'm not sure where I should begin."

"Try the beginning," suggested Trip. "That's always a good place."

"Then it would be a very long tale, indeed," answered Frodo. "What I wish to speak of is tied to the history of our world. I have a request I would make of you, Captain Jonathan, and your crew, yet I fear it needs some explanation."

"Go on," prompted Archer.

"We were not entirely truthful with you when we first spoke together," said Frodo. "In our defense, at the time we thought you servants of the Enemy."

"What Enemy?" asked Trip.

"Sauron, the Dark Lord," answered Frodo.

"That's right," said Archer. "You mentioned the name before."

"Yes," said Frodo. "We told you we were explorers, that we had traveled a great deal, and that is where we misled you."

"The translator didn't exactly make that part completely clear," stated Trip.

Frodo continued his explanation. "We were exploring an area unknown to us, that is true, but we did so because we were on a quest."

Archer put down his own mug of coffee, intrigued. "A quest? For what?"

"We were on a quest to destroy a weapon," answered the hobbit. "A weapon of great power. Were it to fall into the hands of the Enemy his evil would spread to all the lands of Arda, and overrun them. When we came upon the magic door, we were entering into the Dark Lord's lands, which is why we had such fear of you at first. Hoshi has told us of your own mission to destroy the Xindi's weapon. I am very sorry for your misfortune, that you cannot complete your own quest now –"

"If we can't do it, our descendants will," said Archer firmly. "Our mission isn't over yet, Frodo. There is still a chance to destroy the Xindi weapon."

The hobbit nodded in understanding.

"So what happens to your quest now?" asked Trip. "If you're here with us, who's going to find your Enemy's weapon and destroy it? Were there other people with you?"

"There were other people with us," said Frodo. "When we left them, there were still five left alive, for two were lost along the way, although we did not know of the second when we left them. As for finding the weapon, there is no need, for we brought it with us."

Archer choked on his coffee. "You brought this weapon with you?" he demanded, as he grabbed his napkin to sop up the spilled coffee on his shirt and the table. "It's on my ship?"

"Is it the stuff in the glass bottle?" asked Trip quickly. "I told you we should have scanned that, Captain."

"No, that is only a light given me by the Lady," answered Frodo. "It cannot harm you."

"So what is it?" asked Archer. Concern for his crew and ship were uppermost in his mind.

"I would not show it to you," said Frodo. "It, well, it tempts people, especially Men. It even caused one of my own companions on the quest to attack me in desire of it. Only the very best of Men could refuse its call, I think. Not that I believe your people are weak, Captain," he added hurriedly. "I do not mean to offend you. Yet we are only two small hobbits on a ship full of many Men."

"I understand your concern," explained Archer. "But I am Captain of this ship, and if you have brought something aboard which can harm my crew, I need to know about it."

"It must be kept a secret," said Frodo. "I would have as few as possible know of it."

"Fair enough," said Archer. "What is it?"

"It is a Ring." Frodo pushed away his untouched pie, as if the discussion itself had taken away his appetite. "A magic Ring which belonged to Sauron."

"A magic ring?" asked Trip dubiously.

"Trip…" cautioned Archer. Alien beliefs should be considered with respect, and the glass phial of the hobbits had already shown him that their world had some strange capabilities he had not expected to find on a pre-industrial world, not to mention the transporter that had brought them here.

"You think it strange, I know," said Frodo in response to Trip's outburst. "Yet I tell you now that Sauron made this thing himself, and it is in itself evil. In the hands of Sauron, it would remake our world. I should imagine it has more power, even, than anything on this ship, though in a different way."

"Can we see it?" asked Archer, his curiosity now roused. At first he had thought perhaps it could be used in their fight against the Xindi, although how it might be used was still beyond him. Frodo's constant use of the word 'evil,' however, began to dissuade him.

"I suppose you must, if you agree to my request," said Frodo slowly. "Still, I thought to prepare you, for you will think it beautiful beyond compare and you will covet it, and you must not. It will taint all who come into contact with it, and you must defend your thoughts against it."

"So that's what it does?" asked Trip. "It lets you control people's thoughts?"

"Well, the Lady Galadriel told me once that it could, if one tried, but I have never wanted to do so. I do not know all of its powers. I meant something else entirely. It, the Ring itself, will try to overpower you, for it is ever trying to find a way to return to Sauron. Even at such a distance as we are now, I should think it tries to do so. Its purpose is to be on the hand of its Master."

"So you've never tried to use it?" asked Trip, his voice full of curiosity. "Not even once?"

"I have used it, to my shame," said Frodo. "One of its other powers is to turn one invisible, and that can be quite useful, at times."

Archer was stunned, recalling Trip's first report on the arrival of the stowaways. "You've used this thing on my ship?"

"I have."

"And it wouldn't have harmed one of my crew?"

"No, for no one saw it." insisted Frodo. "So far as I know, it can only harm those who possess it, or who desire to possess it, for its only rightful owner is the Dark Lord. Indeed, I have met one who held it for a very long time, who lost it, and seeks it again. He was quite different than he must have been, once upon a time."

"You mean Gollum, don't you, Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam, who had seemed content to let the other hobbit tell of the weapon until now.

"I do. Sméagol was his true name, before he found the Ring," he explained to Archer and Trip.

"And if the tale of that miserable wretch don't tell you that that Thing's evil," added Sam, "there ain't nothing that will."

Frodo nodded. "He was like a hobbit once, long ago, or so Gandalf told me."

"Gandalf?" asked Trip.

"Gandalf. A wizard we knew. A person of great knowledge." Frodo's face grew sad. "He is one of the two who died during our journey."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Trip said too quickly.

Frodo gave him a quick smile and continued on with his tale. "Sméagol lived near the River Anduin, a great and mighty river on Arda. One day he was out fishing with a friend of his named Déagol, when Déagol found the Ring in the river-bed. Sméagol wanted it very much, and so killed his friend to get it, even though I should think he could not have seen it for very long. And when we met him, Sméagol no longer resembled any hobbit. He'd kept the Ring a very long time, and it _changed_ him."

The emphasis Frodo put on the last of his words, as he grasped at the front of his shirt, caused a chill to run up Archer's spine. The captain let loose a breath he did not realize he had been holding, and finished his coffee. "What is the request you wanted to make concerning this ring of yours?"

"I've told you, the Ring does not belong to me, it belongs to the Dark Lord," said Frodo, a hint of irritation in his voice. "You have many machines and skills here we do not have on Arda. Our quest was to take the Ring to the Fiery Mountain, Mount Doom, where it was made and to cast it into the flames there and thus destroy it. Yet our time was running short even before we came here, and I do not know if we would have escaped the notice of the Dark Lord's servants had we not found the magic door. Alas that we did, for here we are, delayed once more. Unless you can tell me that we may be returned to Arda very soon indeed, I would ask if you have some machine or magic which may destroy this Ring."

Archer blinked. He had not expected Frodo to ask him that. He shared a glance with Trip, before turning back to Frodo. "If there is a way to destroy your Ring without damaging my ship or harming crewmembers, I would be willing to help you. What do you think, Trip?"

Trip was running a hand over his mouth absently, clearly considering the prospect. "Well, we have machines that can melt and cut metal, we need them occasionally for repairing and welding broken parts around the ship." He paused, regarding the hobbits seriously. "And Frodo, while it's really brave of the two of you to trek across your planet just to throw this magic ring into a volcano, that just happens to be in Sauron's country, I'm thinking melting it on _Enterprise_ is going to be a heck of a lot easier for you. I assume this Ring is made of metal?"

Frodo nodded. "It's made of gold."

"Gold?" asked Tucker in surprise. "Well, sure we could melt it, then. Gold's a softer metal than what _Enterprise_'s made of. You'd think some powerful magic ring would be made of something stronger than plain old gold."

"I don't know much about metals," added Frodo defensively. "It may be made of a special kind of gold."

"Hmm…and of course there's no guarantee that gold from Arda is the same as gold from Earth," mused Trip. "I'd have to scan it to be sure. I'm sorry, Frodo, but I'm going to have to see it before I can tell you if it would be possible."

"I have a tricorder in my quarters," volunteered Archer, standing up. "If we want to scan it now, I can get it. Frodo, do you want to go back to your quarters and get this ring?"

"There's no need," said Frodo, reaching up to his neck and placing his hands on a silver chain that lay there, unnoticed until now.

"You've been wearing it around your neck?" asked Trip in shock. "I thought you said it was evil! That it harms those who possess –"

"It does," said Frodo sharply. "But I have not possessed it so very long. And it is quite safe with me. What can happen to it if it lies so close?"

Trip did not seem convinced, and was frowning. "How long have you had it?"

"Not so long as others," evaded the hobbit. He drew the silver chain over his curly hair, and Archer caught a glimpse of gold in the light of the cabin. The hobbit placed the ring and chain in his right hand, and displayed them to the two humans.

The Ring was magnificent, a brilliant piece of workmanship such as Archer had never before seen, a flawless, smooth circle made of pure gold that flashed in the light. In spite of Frodo's words, Archer found himself thinking how much he wished to place such a beautiful piece of jewelry on his own hand. A Ring with such powers even the hobbit had admitted he was not entirely certain of what it could do. Powers that could be used against the Xindi, which would crush them utterly. Powers that were not meant for little hobbits. And surely it would fit him perfectly…

"Do not touch it!" said Frodo angrily, and Archer fell out of his reverie to see the hobbit pulling his hand back, hiding the Ring from view. Trip's outstretched hand fell to the table.

"Sorry," muttered the engineer, embarrassed. "I don't know what came over me." He looked up to Archer, and the captain recognized the same confusion and strange desire he had felt reflected in his friend's eyes. Trip had also not expected to be so affected by the hobbit's Ring. "Boy, it's getting a little hot in here, isn't it?" asked Trip. "I'll go get the tricorder, sir. I need a little air, I think."

Archer nodded, more than a little concerned about Trip, and himself. The Ring truly was a powerful device, if it could override their own thoughts so quickly. "Go," he told Trip brusquely. "It's on the desk."

"Will he be all right?" asked Frodo.

"You tell me!" Archer snapped. "You're the one wearing the Ring around your neck."

"I did not want to show it you," answered Frodo, sounding as distressed as Archer felt. "I warned you both. But I must destroy it somehow, and soon."

Archer stepped forward, clapping a supporting hand on the hobbit's shoulder. "I know you didn't. He'll be okay, don't worry. I've known him for years, and he's stronger than you might think."

The dark-haired hobbit nodded, absently taking a sip from tea that must have already grown cold. Porthos ran to the door, reaching it just as Trip entered the room with the tricorder. He seemed to be more in control of himself now. The engineer stopped in front of the table, fingers flying on the tricorder's buttons.

"Can you just open your hand?" he asked Frodo, indicating with a nod of his head the hand that held the Ring.

Watching him warily, Frodo did so, fingers curled protectively around the gold band. "Should I put it on the table?"

"No, that's okay. It's fine where it is." Humming and muttering to himself, Trip tapped several more buttons and switched between several display readings before finally offering his opinion. "Well, according to these readings, what we see is what we've got."

"What do you mean?" asked Frodo, slipping the ring's chain once more over his head.

"It's a plain gold band. At least according to this," said Trip. "It's a slightly different type than is found on Earth, but it has a ninety percent similarity to what we're familiar with, and is made of pure gold. No strange metals are present, nothing you wouldn't expect to be in a ring. Nothing. It doesn't make any sense. If this is a magic ring, well, I sure couldn't tell it from these readings."

"Maybe that's why it's magic," suggested Archer.

Trip chuckled. "Maybe. And maybe old Frodo here is pulling our legs."

"Pardon?" asked Frodo with a frown. Trip's attempt at humor, a defense he used often, fell flat. The idiom apparently had not translated well.

Trip laughed again. "Nothing, Frodo. Forget it." He turned to Archer. "So when do we want to do this, then, Captain? Melt Frodo's jewelry, I mean? I promised to help T'Pol tomorrow with her scans, and I've got a full day of repairs to oversee, but I might be able to pull something together around mid-morning. We shouldn't need to do much in the way of preparations, not for something so small." He turned back to Frodo. "Unless you want to wait a few days. Although you sounded like you wanted to get this done soon."

The hobbit nodded. "As soon as possible. And with as few people as possible. Tomorrow morning will do just fine."

Trip looked to the captain once more. "Well, shall I bring T'Pol with me then? If something goes wrong, she's worth ten of anyone else. Not that I'm complaining about my crew, they're all great people."

Archer nodded. "But she's stronger and faster than us humans. I get it, Trip."

The engineer flushed. "I didn't say that."

"You thought it," pointed out Archer. "And desire and greed are emotions, aren't they?"

"Jonathan," protested Frodo. "I don't want to involve anyone else, least of all a lady. And I do not think she likes us. She always seems so cold."

"That's exactly why she should help," explained Trip, with a grin. "She's a Vulcan. They can control their emotions. She's a quick thinker, too. If for some reason this doesn't work she may have some useful ideas. Trust me – us - on this, Frodo."

Looking first to Archer, then back to the engineer, Frodo finally nodded reluctantly.

"All right, then," concluded Archer as he stood up. "It's settled. I'll see you all tomorrow morning."

"Aren't you coming to movie night?" asked Trip. "The movie starts in an hour."

Archer laughed. Trip was always pushing his planned events. "Maybe. What's playing?"

"Oh, Mayweather's in charge of choosing it, this time. You'll just have to show up and be surprised! People have been complaining I pick too many monster movies. Or so Hoshi claims."

"What's a movie?" asked Frodo, pronouncing the word carefully.

"What's a movie?" asked Trip teasingly in a shocked tone, as he walked the hobbits to the door. Porthos followed behind with a wagging tail. "Well, have you ever seen a play…" His voice and the hobbits' faint answer drifted away as the door closed behind them.

* * *

Porthos growled as a water polo goal was made. 

Archer chuckled in agreement and scratched behind his dog's ears. "You're right. I don't want to see them score either."

The beagle growled again and jumped off the bed, racing to the door of the bedroom. Pausing the game, Archer stood and stretched before reaching to open it. It was pretty late for him to have visitors.

Sam stood in the doorway, hands clasped before him apologetically.

"May I come in, Captain Jonathan, sir?" asked the hobbit. "I needed to talk to you. Before tomorrow, that is. I hope you weren't sleeping yet."

"No, it's fine," he said as he motioned Sam into the room. "Either Captain or Jonathan, but you really don't need both. Unless you want to be formal, and then it's usually Captain Archer. There's no need for you to call me 'sir,' either, Sam. You're my guest, not a member of my crew."

"Oh, well, begging your pardon, but I suppose I'm used to it," said Sam, blushing. "I'm no gentlehobbit like Mr. Frodo. I just work for him."

"I didn't know that," Archer commented as he pulled a chair up to the bed, and helped Sam climb into it. "Is that why you always call him mister?"

"Yes, sir. I'm his gardener, or I used to be, before we left Sûzat." The hobbit drew in his breath in amazement, looking at the screen where the water polo game was displayed in vibrant colors. "What is that? Is that another one of them movies? The one we saw didn't have any colors, though."

"You must have been watching a classic, then," explained Archer. "This isn't a movie, it's a game we call water polo. I like to see how my favorite team's doing, even if I'm a few months behind. Or years ahead."

"Oh," the hobbit seemed speechless, staring at the players and ball, frozen in mid-splash just as it was about to be hit.

"So, Sam, what brings you here, so late at night?"

Sam recovered, and looked away from the screen. "Well, it's about tomorrow. About this business with the Ring."

Archer nodded. He doubted any other reason would have brought the occasionally shy hobbit to his bedroom. "Go on."

Sam bent down to pet Porthos' head as he spoke. The dog seemed to like the hobbit a great deal. "It's just, well, watching that Thing melt, it will be hard on Mr. Frodo. You don't know how long he's had this Ring. He told you he hadn't had it so long, but that's not exactly true."

"How long has he had it?" asked Archer quietly.

"Seventeen years now. And the last year especially, it hasn't been so easy for him – for any of us who were on the quest, but for him most of all. Him being the Ring-bearer and all."

"I didn't think he could be that old," murmured Archer. "He looks younger than you do."

"It's the Ring," stated Sam ominously. "It don't let a body age properly. He's twelve years older than me, though you wouldn't know it to look at him."

"It slows down aging?" asked Archer, incredulous. "For how long?" The image of the gold ring sitting in Frodo's hand flashed through his mind. Perhaps it could it keep him alive until _Enterprise_ met the Xindi again…

Sam shrugged. "As long as you have it, I suppose. Or maybe as long as the Ring is around. Leastways Gollum, that sneak, must be ancient." He gave Archer a sharp look. "Oh no, don't you be thinking that Ring would help you get them Xindi! At the end you wouldn't know yourself. Mr. Frodo said it, it changes folk. That Gollum, he don't look like no hobbit now. A sickly, gangrel creature he is, like nothing you've ever seen. Bless me, but that would be terrible if such a thing happened to a nice person like yourself, Captain Jonathan!"

The hobbit looked truly frightened at the prospect. For a brief moment, Archer wondered if the hobbit was more afraid of him claiming the power of the Ring for himself or of what would happen to Archer should he do so. A chill passed over him and he shivered, feeling the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He would never take the Ring away from Frodo, he was not that kind of person. Archer shook himself and pulled his attention back to the conversation.

"Do you think Frodo will be able to give it up?" he asked, noticing that Sam was watching him carefully.

"I dearly hope so, sir. It's been such a burden to him. These last few weeks before we came on _Enterprise_, especially since we started getting closer to the Dark Lands, have been awful for him. I've seen it, seen him looking lost sometimes when he doesn't think I'm watching. He was feeling the Dark Lord looking for his Ring, he was." Sam straightened, looking at Archer. "He'll give it up. I've no doubt of that. But it'll be fearful hard for him to do so."

"And you want me to help him, if he needs it?" guessed Archer with a smile.

"Yes sir. He'll be needing all the help he can get, I'm thinking." The hobbit crossed his arms. "And don't you let no thoughts of taking the Ring enter your head, neither. If you try and take that Thing from Mr. Frodo, you or Mr. Trip or Lady T'Pol, why you'll have Samwise Gamgee to reckon with, and no mistake."

Archer tried his best not to smile at the small creature's attempt to sound fierce. "Don't you worry, Sam," he assured the hobbit. "No one will try to take it away from Frodo. I promise."

"Good." Sam jumped down from his chair, stopping to once again give Porthos a pat. "I'd best be getting back then, before Mr. Frodo misses me. I'd just wanted to warn you was all, since he'd not have said a word to you or anyone about how hard this will be for him."

"I understand," said Archer, also standing. "He should be glad to have such a concerned employee. Such a friend."

The hobbit blushed. "Well…I'm just doing my job."

The creature was modest beyond belief. As captain of a starship, Archer observed numerous interactions between officers and their subordinates on a daily basis. Had Sam been one of his crew his loyalty would have had him promoted several times over by now. There was no doubt in his mind that without Sam, Frodo would have already been either captured or killed on what was apparently a dangerous mission leading deep into enemy territory. He wondered where such a bond came from.

"It's more than that, I think," said the captain of the _Enterprise_ to the alien half his size. "You love him, in your own hobbit way."

"Aye, he seems like an older brother to me, sometimes," responded Sam, still blushing. "Except that he's a Baggins and I'm just a Gamgee. I've known him most of my life, you know." He looked at Archer sharply. "But don't you be telling Mr. Frodo that! It's not proper for me to be going on so, and don't I know it. Still, we've been through a lot together since we left Sûzat. It changes things."

"Sam, I think he knows. He's a smart hobbit." Archer bent down to the hobbit's height. "This is the first time I've even seen one of you without the other. You're like Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn or Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. The two of you go together." He looked the hobbit straight in the eyes, putting his hands on the hobbit's shoulder. "You're right, you've changed, of course you have. You've faced death together, at the hands of this Dark Lord of yours or his forces. You're more than just his gardener now, you must know that." Archer recalled a term he had once heard an old marine use, one who had seen action in the last of Earth's wars. "The two of you are brothers-in-arms, that's what you are, until your mission is done and your world rescued from Sauron."

Sam shrugged, embarassed, although Archer thought he looked secretly pleased. "Oh, I don't know about that. It don't sound very hobbit-like to me. And speaking of Mr. Frodo, I need to be getting back before he thinks I've lost my way and comes looking for me." He paused by the door. "Um…could you point me towards the Mess Hall?" asked the small creature. "I'm supposed to have been getting us some snacks."

For a moment, Archer was speechless. He stood up slowly. "You can't be hungry already," he said at last. "You had a huge dinner and snacks at the movie."

"Yes, and dinner was right tasty, too, in case we forgot to thank you," commented Sam. "But I was just getting us a little light fare, in case we wake up in the middle of the night and need a little something to help us get back to sleep, if you take my meaning. And I was wanting to bring Mr. Frodo some chamomile tea. He's been having some rough dreams of late, and I thought it might ease him some."

"If Frodo's having trouble sleeping, visiting Phlox in Sick Bay would help him more than some tea," cautioned Archer.

Sam nodded in understanding. "Yes sir. If the tea don't help him none, I'll be sure to tell him so."

Archer smiled down at him and opened the door. "The Mess Hall is straight back the way you came. It'll be on your right."

"Thank'ee, Captain," muttered Sam with a curt nod. "Sleep well." With a wave and a quick smile, the hobbit departed and trotted down the corridor.


	7. The Forge

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fan fiction, and written only for entertainment purposes. The characters belong to their respective creators: J.R.R. Tolkien, his estate, and possibly New Line Cinema; and Paramount Pictures and their writers.

**Warnings:** This chapter does have some violence.

**Author's notes:** Dear Readers and Reviewers: I have been working on this chapter for quite a while. As you might imagine it has been by far the hardest chapter of this tale to write, so I would really appreciate your honest opinions on it. Hopefully you won't be too disappointed.

**Chapter 7:** The Forge

Jonathan led the two hobbits down the corridor toward the room he and Trip deemed safe enough to attempt the destruction of Sauron's Ring. To Frodo, it seemed to take hours to get there, though the walk could not have been so long; every moment felt as if it were a day. Each step he took was leaden. Beside him, Sam chatted amiably about the new things they had experienced over the past few days, everything except what they planned to do now; the words seemed nonsense to Frodo.

He shuddered as Jonathan opened the door. The very thought of what would happen shortly was daunting. Yet this was the very reason he had left Rivendell and the Shire. At least _Enterprise_ was far safer than Mount Doom, and he was stronger here than he had been wandering in the wilderness. He could do this; he had to. He would see the Thing melted and ruined, and keep Middle-earth from the Dark Lord's domination. He must.

They entered into a large, empty Hall, much bigger than any room he had yet seen on the ship. Off to the side sat what looked like some kind of little room, with windows. The outside was colored white, but had marks and scratches, which made it appear well-used. From Hoshi's tour he recalled it was a "shuttle." She had explained they used it to travel between _Enterprise_ and other ships, or to journey to planets. How the little room did so, he had not understood. Near the wall farthest from the door was a tall metal table with an elevated platform on top of it, as well as several thick sheets of metal placed vertically around the table. Across from it, near the shuttle, stood a long, thin machine like none Frodo had ever seen before. Next to it was a small table with many controls, similar to those all over the ship. Behind the machine was Trip, wearing a helm that he removed as he approached them.

"Everything's ready," he said. "We're just waiting on T'Pol now." The door swished open behind them and the lady entered. "Great, here she is." Trip paused to place a stepladder before the table, then positioned himself behind his machine, waving a hand toward them as he spoke. "Once the juice is running, I don't want anyone past that yellow line on the floor."

Frodo looked down to see the line underneath his toes and carefully stepped behind it, measuring the distance with his eyes; the marked area was well away from the machine. T'Pol meanwhile had gone to Trip's side, and was busy with the knobs on the table next to Trip's machine.

"The scanner is calibrated, Captain," she announced after a moment, looking at the Captain and hobbits.

Frodo jumped as the machine rumbled to life and Trip replaced his helm, the visor covering his eyes. Jonathan placed a hand on his shoulder.

"It's time, Frodo," announced the Captain. "Whenever you're ready."

He nodded, noticing for the first time that his hand had been around the Ring. He dropped it, letting the chain swing free. "I'm ready," he said as firmly as he could manage.

"Place your Ring on the platform on the table," instructed Trip. "That's all you have to do."

Frodo shook his head ruefully and held himself back from the bitter laugh that rose in his throat, for if he released it, it would surely turn into a fit of mad laughter. This was all he had to do? He wondered if Trip thought it an easy task. He had never considered exactly how he was to let the Ring go when the time came, had always avoided the very thought of it. Now the moment had arrived. It would have been different, were they on Middle-earth. Without doubt he and Sam would have been hounded to the very end by Nazgûl, orcs, Gollum, and perhaps something even worse. No way now to know how difficult it would have been to cross the plains of Mordor. He found himself wondering if this moment would have been simpler if he stood before the fires of the Sammath Naur, or even, impossibly, more difficult. Would fear of wraiths have made the deed an easy choice, or would he and Sam have even completed the journey? Had he remained on Middle-earth would the Ring still be in his own hands at all?

Sam followed him quietly as Frodo approached the table. Each arduous step felt harder to take than the one before it, and the Ring weighed him down more than ever it had since they arrived on _Enterprise_. The weight bowed him down. All he had to do was make it to the table. Put one step before the other. This he could manage. No matter that more than anything else in the world he wanted only to put the gold band on and save it from its doom. He could feel the sweat breaking on his brow, could watch his own shaking hands tremble with desire. The Ring did not want to be betrayed now after so long a trust. The other sounds in the room faded in his ears, and the table loomed large before him as he stopped in front of it.

He paused before the ladder and clasped treacherous hands to its cool metal, not yet daring to climb up to the table. "Sam," he whispered, risking a brief glance at the brown eyes of his gardner and friend of friends. "I can't do this."

"You can do it, Frodo," Sam assured him, ever faithful. "Of course you can." He felt a hand fall on his shoulder.

Frodo nodded once, a quick jerk of his curly head that denied despair for a moment longer, and faced the task once more.

With unsteady hands he climbed onto the ladder, Sam's hand on his back, supporting him. Slowly, Frodo drew the chain with the Ring over his head, clutching it tightly one last time. For surely this would be the last time he would ever look upon it. Could there not be some other solution unthought of, other than this? They were so far away from home now, surely the Ring's destruction could not matter so very much. The Council might have been wrong, after all. His dream might have only been a nightmare. Frodo held his hand out over the platform, and wavered, clutching it close once more. How could he even think to destroy it? It belonged to one so powerful, and he just a hobbit lucky enough to have it. He would not do this; it could not be destroyed.

Yet it must be! Visions from his last dream flashed through his thoughts. He thought of the months of toil and pain endured by the Fellowship, and Faramir telling him of his brother's death. He remembered Gandalf's fall. He would do this. For the ignorance of the Shire, for the wonder of the Elves, for the stubborness of the Dwarves, for the survival of Men and all Middle-earth, and for the very lives of his friends this must be done. Somehow.

Even as he raised his hand, the Ring dangling on its silver chain, he could not help but think how right it would be to place it on his hand now. He was so tired of fighting it, of forcing himself to stop his hands from taking it when all he wanted was to finally claim it as his own. He should do so now. It begged him to claim It now and for all time, its familar whispers a resounding call within his mind. After all, why should he not keep it? Of course he knew the reasons the Ring should be destroyed, none knew better. Yet Sauron and Mordor were far away. It had been his for so many years, and for all he worried he had not yet seen a clear sign that he would become like Gollum. Gollum had started his ownership with the death of a friend; he had been given the Ring as a part of his inheritance. How many times would he have to lose what was his? There was a litany of events, of losses, often thought of and never forgotten: his parents' death, Bilbo's departure, the selling of Bag End, the forced leaving of the Shire, Gandalf's fall. Each loss had been a wrenching of his heart, a bit of himself that had drifted away. Now he must give up this Ring, this companion of years, as well. What would be next? He had very little left.

Frodo heard his name spoken softly and looked down at Sam. His dearest of friends gazed at him with concern, his brow furrowed in worry. Yet he seemed content to wait for Frodo, without prodding. Sam expected Frodo to make the correct decision, sure that he would never do otherwise. Frodo felt guilty at the disloyalty of his own thoughts.

Resolutely he brought his quavering hand over the platform, breathing hard. He had to destroy it. It must be done. There was no other way.

With a supreme effort of will, Frodo opened his fist, intending to drop the Ring onto the platform. Instead of the Ring falling onto the table, he watched as his own hand brought it back before the Ring had a chance to fall, clutching it close once more.

It was impossible. Of all those who had possessed the Ring, only Bilbo had ever chosen to let it go, with the aid of Gandalf, and he was not Bilbo. All was lost.

"It's no use, Sam," he said finally, after staring down at the empty platform for a long moment.

"I thought you said your world would be overrun by Sauron's forces if you don't destroy this Ring," said a deep voice close behind him. It was Jonathan.

"I did," Frodo answered quietly. "But you do not understand. It's too late. How can I let it go now? I fear it has become a part of me. Or am I a part of it?" Below him he heard Sam choke, and winced. He should not have said that where the lad could hear.

"Just do it, Frodo," encouraged Jonathan. "End it now and be free of it forever. Free your world of it."

"I will never be free of it," he answered without thinking, and wondered where the thought had come from. Yet the words felt true, for how could he lose the Ring and not lose even more of himself? It was not that he felt desire to keep it, for this went beyond desire. He simply did not know now how to give it up. Nevertheless, it had been a mistake to admit this aloud, for Sam must never know how dear to him the Ring had become. Silence followed his words.

Finally, Sam spoke. "I could help, Mr. Frodo," he offered, stepping closer to the ladder. "I can put it on the table for you, if it's so very hard for you to let it go."

Frodo stared at him. Before him stood not Sam, but a greedy, grasping wretch wanting from Frodo the one thing he had sought to keep safe. "Get back!" he cried, drawing away from the creature's grasp, and kicking out at it with his left foot. "Get away from me!" The vision faded and he saw Sam there once more, retreating from the ladder with fearful, tear-filled eyes.

"Sam, no!" he said sadly to the other hobbit, turning to face him. "I'm sorry! Forgive me!" Even as he spoke, his attention on the other hobbit, something jostled his right hand abruptly, and he felt the Ring slip from his fingers. It careened through the air, landing with a heavy thud on the platform. He reached for it immediately, but strong arms caught him and lifted him away from the ladder and table.

For a moment the hobbit could only stare as he tried to catch his breath, shocked. He struggled in Jonathan's hands, his feet finding no purchase but empty air. "Let me go!" he said fiercely. Jonathan lowered him to the ground, but did not move away, blocking the hobbit's path to the table. As if in a daze, Frodo realized suddenly that they had done it. The Ring was no longer in his hands. He wanted it back; he was empty without it. Sam steadied him as he stumbled, suddenly weary, and took his hands in his firm yet gentle grip, guiding them both slowly to the side of the room.

As they passed the yellow line on the floor, Frodo sank down weakly. When he raised his eyes, he saw the Ring waiting innocently for its demise as Trip and T'Pol moved energetically behind their cruel machine. It seemed all he could do not to stagger to his feet and rescue it. He clutched Sam's hands desparately.

The machine that would melt the Ring shook and out shot a bright blue light, aiming directly at the golden band. For a moment the hobbit was confused, wondering how they might melt a ring simply with light. Then, as the powerful light embraced the Ring, he realized something else that made him catch his breath in utter horror. This would be no instantaneous destruction of the Ring, such as might have been had it been thrown into Mount Doom's fires. Trip's machine offered a slow, inexorable end that demolished the Ring gradually before his very eyes. All that remained for him to do was wait.

An eternity passed.

* * *

Archer paced the deck as the laser continued to fire on the Ring lying quiescent on the table, refusing each new effort by Trip and T'Pol to melt it. How many tries they had made he was not quite sure, but they had held many whispered conversations with one another, with T'Pol often indicating the monitor in front of her. 

They whispered, of course, for no one wished to disturb the hobbits sitting on the marked line, awaiting the Ring's destruction. Frodo knelt with Sam next to him, and if the older hobbit's eyes had turned even once from the scene before them, Archer had missed the moment. They were far enough away from the laser that he had not thought wearing eye protection necessary, but had begun to rethink that decision if the hobbit continued to stare so. Then again, he had no desire to interrupt the two hobbits, for clearly Frodo needed all of Sam's support.

If anything remained to convince Jonathan Archer that taking the Ring from Frodo was unquestioningly a bad idea, this was it. The small being's face looked haggard and tormented, and Sam had not released his friend's white-knuckled grip once since Frodo had relinquished the Ring. What Sam murmured to Frodo, Archer could not hear, but he had kept up a running dialogue since the two of them sat down on the deck. Sam's comments on the difficulty for Frodo of destroying the Ring had been directly on target, and Archer decided that a visit to Phlox immediately following this ordeal would be in order. As Trip and T'Pol stopped to converse quietly with one another one more time, Archer decided to find out just how much longer this might take.

He approached his engineer and science officer.

"Captain?" asked Trip.

"How far along are you? It's been over an hour. I don't know if Frodo can take much more."

"We have not made any progress," stated T'Pol calmly. "Although it is irrational to assume that this much power would not melt a simple gold band, that appears to be the case."

"Nothing we've tried works," added Trip, "Different frequencies, different strengths, altering the laser beam. Nothing."

"That is not the only concern," continued T'Pol. "The temperature of the gold remains stable. In spite of all our efforts, it will not rise."

"We have two more variations planned," said Trip. "Then it's back to the drawing board."

The beam fluctuated as Trip pressed several buttons. A moment later Frodo surged to his feet, throwing Sam off balance and onto his back. Frodo did not appear to notice.

"Make it stop!" called the dark-haired hobbit as he approached them quickly, his raised voice echoing through the shuttle bay. "It's done nothing! Make it stop!"

"Just a few more minutes, Frodo," said Trip absently, as he made slight adjustments to his device. "We have other things we'd like to try. Be patient, okay?"

"Be patient!" echoed the hobbit. His eyes were wild, his face an anguished mask, and his hands clenched into tight fists at his side. "It is not working, and I have been a fool. There is only one place where the Ring can be destroyed, and that is not this ship." He turned on his heel and strode purposefully toward the table. "Only its Creator's fires will melt it, and none other."

"Frodo, stop!" called Archer, running up to the hobbit quickly, Sam a few steps behind him. "It's not safe to get too close to the laser – to the light." Having to use more force than he expected, he propelled the two of them back over to where Trip and T'Pol were stationed.

"Release me!" said Frodo sharply, jerking his shoulders out of Archer's hands. "I am no child!"

"I know you aren't, Frodo," soothed the man as he lowered Frodo to the ground, watching him carefully. Archer regarded him in concern. This was clearly taking a toll on the hobbit. He looked behind Frodo to match gazes with Sam, who nodded in thanks and took one of Frodo's clenched fists.

"Don't you treat me like that either, Samwise Gamgee," objected Frodo, pulling his hand free and stepping away. He turned his gaze up to Archer once more. "I know it is not working."

"Just a little while longer, Frodo. We're almost done." Archer glanced over at the readings on T'Pol's monitor, but could not discern what the two of them were discussing.

"A little longer yet? Do you think this a game for me?" asked Frodo angrily, approaching Archer. "I assure you it is not!"

This was not going well. "Calm down, Frodo," ordered Archer. "I'll be right back." Out of the corner of his eye as he turned he saw Sam approach his friend once more.

The captain came up behind his officers. T'Pol was indicating her display screen with one finger.

"Look here," she was saying to Trip. "This energy signature has been growing steadily." Her hands flicked across the device's buttons, bringing up an earlier scan. "But it was not present when we began this procedure. Perhaps if we can match the signature's frequency we might trigger some structural decay."

"Or it might do nothing at all," said Trip.

"In which case we will know that the signature is not related to the Ring's composition."

Trip shrugged. "Well, anything's worth a shot."

T'Pol frowned as if she wanted to reply to his statement, then simply nodded as Trip began making adjustments to the laser beam.

The beam flared brightly, stinging Archer's eyes, and he threw an arm over them for protection as he stumbled away from the light.

* * *

Trip blinked furiously, his eyes watering. Misshapen blobs of various colors danced in his vision. Frustrated, he threw off the protective helmet, letting it fall with a clatter onto the deck. What had happened? He wiped at his streaming eyes and saw that the laser was still running, still aimed at that Ring lying on the target platform. The air felt strange, full of tension, as if they stood in the eye of a hurricane. 

Still blinking away a few brightly colored motes, he glanced around the room. Apparently he and T'Pol had been spared the worst of the laser's flare by the machines standing in front of them. The hobbits and the Captain were staggering to their feet, Sam waving a hand in front of his eyes.

"We should discontinue the laser," suggested T'Pol beside him, shaking her head and rubbing at her eyes. "That was no normal reaction to a change in frequency. It may be unstable."

Trip nodded, and cut the power to the stream. As he came out into the center of the room, he saw Frodo heading directly toward the table, one hand held before him as if to feel his way. Yet he walked unerringly to where the Ring waited.

The Ring! "T'Pol," he called back. "Did that do anything to the Ring?"

The petite Vulcan studied her display. "Negative. There's been no change…wait-" Trip turned around to face her. "Those energy readings, they have increased."

He frowned, and followed Frodo, watching the hobbit carefully, telling himself he only wanted to help the small creature. He wanted to be certain the high energy readings did not mean a danger to the little alien. But of course, that was not truly why he followed. He wanted to catch another glimpse of the Thing, up close. This strange, magic Ring, which had defeated them at every turn. It had unknown Powers, the hobbit had said.

"Hey, be careful!" he called as Frodo clambered quickly up the stepstool, and threw out a hand to steady the hobbit's legs as he reached the table. Although the top of the stool only reached his own hip, it was almost as tall as Frodo himself.

"Don't touch me!" ordered the hobbit quickly and the man let his hand fall.

"Frodo," warned Trip. "I don't think you should pick that up just yet. No heat's showing up on our scans, but that doesn't mean it's safe to touch with bare hands. I can get you some gloves."

"It's not hot," answered the hobbit, turning around as he descended the ladder. In his cupped hand lie the Ring, without its chain. For a moment Trip stared at it, enraptured, even as Frodo seemed to be. Fire burned around the Ring. A moment passed before he realized it was some kind of inscription.

"Do those markings mean something?" asked someone nearby, and Trip slowly realized that Archer and Sam had joined them.

"'Tis written in the Dark Lord's speech," Trip heard Sam answer, as if from a distance. He could not take his eyes from the mesmerizing gold in the dark-haired hobbit's hand, and the red gleam of unknown letters danced before his eyes.

Archer was speaking again. "What does it say?"

"I don't rightly know the words in the dark language, and I don't want to," said Sam. "Gandalf had to translate it for us."

"And it's meaning?" prodded a feminine voice.

"One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them."

There was a long pause. Trip found that he had been holding his breath and looked up to see the others before him. He raised a hand to his head as the room spun around him.

"That's horrible," said the Captain eventually. There was a pause. "Are you all right, Trip?"

The engineer felt hands on his shoulders, steadying him.

"What's wrong?" he heard Captain Archer asking him.

He wanted to answer, but found his gaze once more drawn to the Ring in Frodo's hand. The hobbit appeared to be watching as the fiery letters slowly faded away, tracing them with a small finger. Trip licked lips suddenly dry. He wanted It. There was no getting around the fact. Sure, it had belonged to some kind of evil lord on Arda, but he could do anything with it, and _he_ certainly wasn't evil. If it was in his hands, he would use it to destroy the Xindi, and teach them a thing or two about attacking peaceful planets that had never even heard of their species. He would teach them a lesson about killing innocent civilians, and sisters. When he was through, the Xindi would wish they had never even thought of making a weapon of any kind. They would swear themselves to peace with all others, and become a force for good in the universe.

He found that he had stepped forward. Frodo's eyes lifted to meet his, and the hobbit stepped back. He felt surprised; the small alien should not be afraid of him! Trip tried to give the hobbit a friendly smile, though it felt stiff. He wouldn't hurt the little guy; he only wanted the gleaming band of gold he held. Such a small thing, really, to have such power. He needed it.

"Give it to me!" he heard himself say. It didn't sound like his voice; it was rough and harsh.

The hobbit stepped away again, until he stood with the table's legs at his back. He clutched the Ring in one hand, close to himself, making it more difficult for Trip to claim what should rightfully be his. It wouldn't matter; the hobbit was half his size and certainly didn't appear to have been working out recently. In fact, the alien's hands were trembling, and he looked frightened. It would be easy to take it from him. Something grabbed Trip's legs and bumped his arms. He shrugged them off. He had more important things to take care of right now.

He reached down, grabbing the hobbit's wrist roughly in his hand. "Give it to me!" he commanded again.

"No!" answered the hobbit with a grimace and an enraged look, his free hand straying to his hip as if seeking a phase pistol – or a sword. "You cannot have It! It was given to me!"

"I need It!" he called back, advancing upon the creature. "It should be mine!" As they fell to the ground, Trip caught a blessed glimpse of perfect gold and heard the band resound off the metal floor. He tried to reach for it, but the wretched hobbit was quicker, writhing under the man's grasp like a snake and grabbing it. Trip was furious. How dare he! He growled in anger. That settled it. The hobbit should have left it for him to take, and he would have backed off. Well, there was one quick way to end this. He reached for the hobbit's neck, breathing hard himself.

Something grabbed him again, and he swung a fist over his shoulder, feeling the grip slacken. Couldn't they leave him alone long enough to finish this? He needed this Ring, needed it _now_.

The dark-haired creature below him scrabbled ineffectively at the man's hands as they circled his small neck, his fingers finding the rapidly pulsing vein in the hobbit's neck easily. Well, it was the creature's own fault. If he had given Trip the Ring when asked for it, he wouldn't be in this situation, would he? The hobbit choked and squirmed as he squeezed. The Ring would soon be his to claim…

Suddenly, he felt pain explode on the side of his head and fell through the air, landing roughly on the deck. The world whirled around him, and Trip found himself blinking in confusion and breathing hard as he looked around. Something in the back of his mind warned him he had not been acting nicely and should feel ashamed of himself. There were boots in front of him, and as he followed them up the body standing there he recognized Jonathan Archer standing before him.

"Cap'n," he murmured dazedly. Archer was not looking at all happy. "What have I done? What's wrong?"

"Don't you remember?" asked the captain coldly.

Trip sat up, one hand to his head. It hurt something fierce. "No, I…" In a flash, it came back to him. _Frodo!_ He tried to turn to see the hobbit, but the captain was grabbing him by the shoulder of his uniform, and pulled him to his feet roughly. As he looked at Archer, he realized the side of Archer's face was red, and beginning to turn blue. "Did I do that?" he asked, his voice quavering.

"Yes, you did," answered the other man angrily. "You also threw Sam, and nearly killed Frodo. What were you thinking?"

"I…I wasn't." Trip stepped back, shuddering. He had wanted that Ring so badly. Never in his life had he wanted something so much. The desire of it had completely taken him over. "I'm sorry, Captain. I don't know what happened. I…I didn't mean it."

"I know that," said Archer more gently. "Which is why I want you out of here. Sick Bay, now."

"Yes sir." Trip turned to leave, catching a glimpse of Frodo on the ground, supporting himself with his right hand, while his left was clenched in a fist. Sam sat on one knee next to him, talking to the other hobbit. For a moment he wondered if Frodo held the Ring in that fist and took a step toward them without thinking.

"Commander," insisted a soft voice urgently, and he looked down. Blue eyes met brown; he stopped as if made of stone.

He could feel his face flushing, guilt at his previous actions not letting him speak until he had swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. "I'm sorry, T'Pol," he whispered, voice hoarse. "I don't know what came over me."

"You were not yourself," she noted, watching him carefully. "Your desire of the hobbit's Ring overcame you. I believe it may truly be more powerful than we assumed. You should not feel guilty of your actions, since the device was only functioning as it was designed to."

"I don't know about that," he countered. "I've never wanted something so bad yet that I tried to kill someone for it."

She frowned slightly, still regarding him intently, but said nothing to indicate her thoughts. Perhaps she was worried about him, but T'Pol would never admit such a thought to him. "Come," she said at length. "You need to be examined by Dr. Phlox."

Trip nodded slowly, and let her hand on his arm guide him out of the room. He left with a heavy heart, wondering what effect his actions might have had on the hobbits, and whether Frodo would ever dare to trust him again.

* * *

The chime of Archer's Ready Room sounded, disturbing him from the rather dull report he was reading on last month's performance of the warp core. Grateful for the distraction, he stretched and opened the door to admit Phlox. 

"Doctor," he acknowledged. "How are our patients doing?" They must be doing well for Phlox to have left them in Sick Bay.

"They do not seem to be suffering much neurological damage from their experiences," answered Phlox, as Archer moved back to let him enter the room fully. "I am monitoring both Frodo and Trip for changes in their mental state, for the time being."

Archer could just imagine the scene. Trip was never fond of long stays in Sick Bay, especially not now with Engineering in its current state. "I can imagine Trip's not too pleased with that."

Phlox snorted. "Neither of the patients are pleased with the situation. Frodo, at least, is not tall enough to leave his bed easily, nor would Sam let him. Commander Tucker is receiving regular reports from Engineering. I wondered if I might borrow Porthos to keep the mood cheerful."

"Of course," said Archer. "I'll bring him over once I'm done with these reports. The hobbits feel all right with having Trip nearby, in spite of what happened?"

"They are separated visually by curtains," admitted the Doctor. "I do not think it was a wise decision to try and melt Frodo's ring without any psychological preparation for him. He is very attached to it, far more than is healthy for anyone."

"T'Pol thinks it might be a kind of defense mechanism of the Thing, to build up some sort of psychological connection with it," offered Archer. "And I felt it myself, when Frodo showed us the Ring last night. The hobbits did warn us that others had killed to have it." He sighed, shaking his head. "We should have taken more precautions."

Phlox laid a comforting hand on his arm. "You couldn't have anticipated that it would affect Commander Tucker or Frodo exactly like this. There was no way to know. To you, it looked just like a piece of jewelry. Everyone is recovering from their experiences now. We can't change what's happened, only deal with the consequences."

Archer nodded in agreement. "Well, thanks for the update. Are you planning on setting them free anytime soon?"

"I'd like to observe them overnight, but they'll be free to leave in the morning if everything goes to my satisfaction." The doctor pulled a PADD out of his pocket. "I have also prepared a preliminary report for you on a matter that is beginning to concern me."

Archer looked at him questioningly.

"Since the hobbits arrived on board, I have become aware of the total lack of facilities on _Enterprise_ for those of shorter stature." Phlox regarded him seriously, pressing his hands together. "If we are to become a generational ship, preparing for the eventual contact with the Xindi in the far future, we need to start considering preparations for the future. Not only do we need supplies for the maintenance of the ship, but also for the eventual maintenance of children, Captain."

"Children-" Archer repeated in surprise. He had hardly thought of their future plans yet; recent events had made it seem enough just to survive each day.

"How else will our descendants meet the Xindi and still be able to stop them? We don't only need smaller clothing, but furniture designed for children. We will also have to have a nursery and some kind of schoolroom, as well as a functioning teaching program designed for their needs."

"Of course," Archer nodded. "You're right."

"It will take some time to transform Enterprise adaquately. I suggest we also begin speaking with crewmembers with teaching experience." Phlox nodded at the PADD he had just given the captain. "You'll find a list there of everyone with teaching experience, and another of those with children."

Archer nodded again, and set the device on his desk to peruse later. "Thanks for your concern, Doctor. I promise to take a look at as soon as I get a chance."

The Denobulan beamed at him, his mission completed, and left him alone in the room.

* * *

Hoshi paused before making her presence known to the Captain, as she stood just outside the door of his Ready Room. Phlox had only just left, and perhaps it was better to interrupt the Captain now before he became involved in something new. Rumors were flying around the ship about what had happened in the Shuttle Bay between the hobbits and the senior officers of _Enterprise_. Whatever had transpired there, the end result was a hobbit and Commander Tucker consigned to Sick Bay by the doctor, and Engineering crewmen being sent in to dismantle a table and a modified laser. It was all quite mysterious, and Captain Archer had compounded it by announcing to the Bridge members several hours earlier that he was looking to acquire a necklace, specifically a plain chain, and they should spread the word to anyone who might be willing to part with one. She wondered briefly if she really wanted to get mixed up in this. Hoshi grinned quickly. Of course she did; she loved a good mystery. 

She reached forward to press the button that would announce her presence and was quickly admitted. The Captain regarded her from his desk chair.

"Is something wrong, Hoshi?"

"Not at all, sir," she answered, reaching in her pocket for the chain she had brought with her. It was old, and had been given to her during the Tanabata festival when she was a child by a distant but dear aunt. Once it had held a pendant, a little star, to mark the holiday. Her wish that year had been granted, Hoshi remembered fondly. Barely a month after the festival she had received her acceptance notice for the summer language program she had been hoping to attend. The clasp had broken years ago, and the pendant placed on another chain, but somehow she had continued to bring it with her whenever she moved, tucked into a drawer of her jewelry box that she rarely opened. Whatever the Captain wanted with a necklace, he would certainly find a better use for it than she had.

"You said you wanted to find a chain," she explained, holding the silver chain out to him. "I have this old one I haven't really used in years. But the clasp is broken."

"That's all right, Hoshi," he said, accepting it with a smile. "I'll find someone who can fix it. It's exactly what I was looking for. Thank you."

"I'm afraid it's a little small, I've had it since I was a girl," she apologized, while pondering why he might be looking for a necklace. She had not heard any rumor that the Captain was seeing someone, and if he was, why would he only want such a plain chain, and not be looking for something more extravagent? She watched him speculatively, trying to guess.

"It's perfect," he continued as he set it down on the desk.

She smiled, and was turning to leave when the Captain called her back, as if an idea had suddenly occurred to him.

"Hoshi, I'm sure you've heard by now that Phlox has confined Frodo to Sick Bay."

"Yes, sir. I wondered what happened."

He frowned. "It's not really my business to say. The hobbits want it kept secret; it has to do with their mission on Arda." He glanced up at her, then stood and paced across the small room before turning to face her. "I was wondering if you might be able to come up with something that would interest Frodo, that might distract him from his problems."

She considered the idea. "Well, yesterday morning, when he and Sam were visiting the bridge, Frodo did mention he wished he could read the computer displays. But I think he only wanted to be able to help T'Pol find Arda."

"English lessons!" The Captain stopped pacing once more to stare at her with delight. "That's just the thing, Hoshi. That should keep Frodo's attention from the – from his problems for a while."

"I can write up a quick lesson plan tonight," she mused. "But Captain, shouldn't we be arriving at Planet Downtime soon? That should certainly keep the hobbits interested." she blushed at his questioning look. "Sorry, sir. Travis started calling it that, and the name stuck. But we've all been looking forward to the break."

"Two days," he stated. "Our ETA at the Minshara-class planet is in two days. And you're right, being on solid ground again should distract the hobbits from anything having to do with the R- with their situation." He shot her a sharp look. "Maybe you should see if you can think of a better nickname for the planet by then," he said with a smile.

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed. And thank you again for the chain, Hoshi."

She nodded, and made her way out of the Room and back to her communications station.


	8. A Short Rest

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fan fiction, and written only for entertainment purposes. The characters belong to their respective creators: J.R.R. Tolkien, his estate, and possibly New Line Cinema; and Paramount Pictures and their writers.

**Author's notes: **Thank you so much, everyone who reviewed! I really appreciate feedback on my writing.

**Chapter 8:** A Short Rest

Sam shuddered as the small "shuttle" slipped lower, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his seat tighter in fear. Boats had been nothing compared to this. His stomach felt like it would just fall right out of him.

"How are the two of you doing back there?" asked Hoshi ahead of them, and Sam peeked out of one eye to see her turn away from the machine in front of her. Like the other _Enterprise_ crewmembers, she was no longer clad in her livery, and now wore a loose pink shirt and the dark blue breeches clearly popular among both the men and women of _Enterprise_. "I haven't heard a word out of either of you. Isn't this view magnificent?"

The window at the front of the shuttle no longer showed the bleakness of space, but had been replaced by a myriad of colors: bright blue, green, and brown, covered in places with specks of whiteness.

"It is quite a view," answered Frodo next to him. "But at the moment I believe we are more concerned with keeping our breakfasts in our stomachs. How much farther is it yet, Hoshi?"

"You think this is bad?" asked Travis with a laugh, from where he was steering the small ship. "We haven't even hit the clouds yet!"

"Heavens!" exclaimed Frodo. "It gets worse than this?"

"This is nothing!" Travis laughed again. "Just hold on!"

The ship plummeted again, and once more Sam's stomach felt like it wanted to desert him. In an effort to think of anything else, he regarded the view in front of them. "What are all the colors?"

"The blue is water," answered Hoshi. "The green is forests or grassy areas, and the brown less grassy areas. You can't see it yet, but we're heading just to the east of those mountains."

"That's the sea?" asked his master, wonder in his voice, having also opened his eyes.

"It is," answered Hoshi. "Or many seas, I assume. Like many Minshara-class planets, this one has a large amount of water. However, we won't be near the water."

"Who lives here, lady?" asked Sam in curiosity. Surely a world with so much green must be a fine place to live. He gasped as the ship and his stomach fell once more, slicing through white clouds.

"Are you all right, lad?" asked Frodo, plainly concerned.

Sam nodded, his eyes closed again. He was starting to get the hang of this, although he doubted he would ever say he enjoyed the way his stomach seemed to rise and fall as they descended further. He had never been one to enjoy heights. If he thought too hard about the fact that there was nothing at all supporting the ship, it seemed to make him feel even worse, so he concentrated on Hoshi's answer.

"No one lives here, Sam," she said. "Other than a few small animals, life really hasn't developed here yet. That's why we decided it would be a good place to have some shore leave."

He nodded in understanding, his eyes still closed, and settled back in his seat as the ship descended further.

* * *

The door to Shuttlepod One opened, and Hoshi stood up, checking to be certain she had both of her bags with her. _Enterprise_'s crew had been split into three groups, each taking a rotation on the planet's surface for a few days, with the exception of Phlox and a few engineers, who would be stationed there for the duration of the ship's stay. Much time had been spent yesterday scanning the planet and performing tests to ascertain that it would indeed be a safe place for the crew to unwind. Late yesterday tents and supplies had been transported down. 

The hobbits had dashed out of the door as soon as it opened, and as she exited the shuttle, Hoshi paused in the doorway to watch them running their bare furry feet through the grass. They were both laughing, and she found herself smiling along with them.

"Did you miss the grass?" she asked as she approached them and crouched down to their height, laying her two bags on the ground. Ahead of her, Travis continued on to the campsite where several tents already stood in a circle.

Sam frowned at her, then asked a question that was not translated into English.

"Is your translator on?" she asked him, pointing at the small device clipped to his belt. Sam's expression brightened and he switched it on, tentatively pushing the correct button. Hoshi repeated her question.

"Oh yes, lady, we surely did," said Sam. "Not that there's anything wrong with _Enterprise_, but that metal floor can be so cold to bare feet. Bless me, it's wonderful to feel grass again!" Beside him, Frodo laughed yet again in agreement, scrunching his toes in the soft green foliage.

Grinning at their obvious pleasure, the exolinguist stood and surveyed the area. The campsite sat in a clearing, surrounded on all sides by a thick forest. Towering trees with extraordinarily long, twisted branches stood guard along the edges of the glade. In the distance she could see the mountains they had passed in the shuttle. Along one side of the campsite ran a small stream, where already a water purifier capable of decontaminating enough water for the camp sat. Near the purifier several crewmembers were rigging ropes. There were several sets of tents set up in circular patterns, and someone had already begun collecting stones for a campfire for two of the groups of tents. Hoshi was pleasantly surprised at the effort being taken; since her arrival on _Enterprise_ she had only camped as part of the Away team. These preparations would clearly accommodate a much larger group.

"Well, someone has been busy," commented Travis as Hoshi and the hobbits approached. "I guess Planet Downtime won't mean downtime for all of us."

"Hey, I renamed it!" protested Hoshi, her hands on her hips. "It's Relaxation Station now."

Travis grinned. "I like my name better."

"They are both excellent choices," stated Frodo. "Come on, Sam, let's find a tent so we can set our packs down."

Hoshi followed their example, and went to claim a tent of her own.

* * *

Evening had arrived sooner than he expected, and Frodo found himself sitting by a campfire made of wood he and Sam had collected. Stirring the fire idly with a long stick, he wondered briefly if any of the ship's folk had begun thinking about dinner yet. Everyone had seemed so excited to explore this unknown world that he had not noticed anyone taking the time to do the necessary tasks. He sighed in frustration. No one had yet made any attempt to hunt anything, or collect any of the food that must lie in these woods. If food had been brought from the ship, he had not seen it. He began to doubt that any of these people had ever slept outside before. They certainly seemed to have brought each and every one of their comforts with them, right down to machines that would clean the water and temporary showers - as they named their bathing waterfalls - rather than simply using the stream to wash in. 

Sam arrived from his errand and sat down on the large log next to Frodo. Large stones and logs circled the fire to serve as seats. "They're bringing food over now," he announced. "It must be from the ship, for I've not seen anyone do much more than look at the woods with their little machines, and with this many people we need a lot of food."

Trip arrived, his shoes crunching noisily through the grass and dried leaves that littered the campsite, carrying a large carton. Hoshi and Travis followed him, both of them laughing at some comment. "Chow time!" announced the chief engineer loudly as he dropped his carton on the ground in front of him.

At Trip's call, Jonathan and T'Pol approached the campfire as well, from the opposite direction. The _Enterprise_ officers waited while Trip pried off the lid of his carton, and began sifting through silver packets, reading the words on them. "Meatloaf! Veal marsala!"

"I'll have the veal," stated Travis, standing and accepting the package from Trip before sitting across the fire from Sam.

"Pepperoni pizza!" continued Trip.

"That's mine," said Hoshi, taking her package and sitting next to Sam.

With a sinking feeling, Frodo realized that the silver parcels contained their dinner. The hobbit wondered how fresh the food could possibly be, sitting in that carton for an unknown length of time. The _Enterprise_ members, however, seemed to trust the food, so he supposed it must be edible.

Next to him, Sam shifted. "Food that's been sitting in a box for - what? Months? I don't trust it, and no mistake."

"That was my thought exactly. Yet it wouldn't be polite to refuse their food," said Frodo as Trip continued to hand out silver packages. "Perhaps we should try some. How bad can it be? They seem to like it well enough."

Sam frowned. "I don't know. We'll get sick."

"No one else distrusts the food. Perhaps it's their version of _lembas_. Remember, it also seemed strange to us at first."

"Aye, but food made by the Elves and food from these folk just aren't the same thing at all." The younger hobbit finally nodded, just as Trip sat down on the other side of Frodo. "Well, live and learn, as my Gaffer says. Leastways I can always fetch the_ lembas_ if the food's wretched."

"We've fared far worse, Sam," said Frodo seriously, thinking of long marches with little to eat and the constant fear that prevented lighting a fire.

"I know that," responded Sam just as intently. "Of course I do. I was only making fun. We'd best save the _lembas_ for when we get back to Middle-earth."

"So what'll you two have?" asked Trip, interrupting their quiet conversation and placing his food next to him on the log.

"What would you recommend?" asked Frodo. "We've never eaten such food before."

"Well, MREs do take some getting used to. How about some ravioli –" he handed a package to Frodo, "and some chicken stew?" He gave Sam the other package.

"Wonderful," commented Frodo dryly, turning his package around in his hands and looking at the strange lettering that he had only begun to understand, thanks to Hoshi's English lessons. "Shall I just open it and eat it?"

"Oh no, you're going to want it hot. Here, I'll do it." Trip took their packages and opened them, fiddling with the contents before returning them. "They'll be done in a minute or two."

"How is that going to cook the food?" asked Sam, regarding his package suspiciously.

"Magic," answered Trip with a grin, and opened his own silver bag to reveal a black tray with a small amount of food on it. Frodo's unease grew. Surely there would be more food than that? Perhaps, like elvish waybread, it was especially filling.

To his dismay, Frodo found his food sadly devoid of much taste, and far from filling. Such meals were clearly not meant for hobbits. With a small sigh, he placed his empty dish to the side and turned his attention to the crewmembers' conversation. They were recounting the events of an earlier camping trip on the first world they had encountered with _Enterprise_. Apparently the plants there had made them ill, and they had begun to act very strangely. Something soft and very warm brushed against his foot, and Frodo's interest in the tale wavered as he looked down to see Porthos lying there. The dog looked up at him with sad eyes.

Tentatively, the hobbit placed a hand on the dog's head. When the animal did not respond, he patted it gently. "You're a good dog," he told him. "You would never chase a hobbit-lad out of a mushroom field, would you?" The dog settled against him more comfortably, turning on his side, and Frodo laughed. "No, surely not."

Trip, next to him, grinned, also reaching down to pet Porthos. "So that's what you were stealing? Mushrooms!"

Frodo nodded at the man's words, abruptly feeling uncomfortable at the realization that he was sitting quite close to Trip. He shivered, recalling large hands at his neck and madness in the man's eyes, and slid closer to Sam as unobtrusively as he could. Trip's gaze fell to the fire.

Silence reigned over the campfire for a moment. Frodo glanced around, noticing that everyone except Archer avoided looking at him. He picked up the stick lying near his foot where he had left it and idly prodded the campfire once more, avoiding the captain's worried gaze.

"So how about some camping stories, Frodo?" suggested Travis, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "I bet you hobbits have some great stories."

"Well, Sam?" he turned to the other hobbit with a smile. "Come, you've already proven you have quite a head for tales and song." The dim memory of a song told beneath stone trolls following his stabbing at Weathertop came to mind. It was one of the few things he could recall from his illness.

"What, me?" The younger hobbit looked nonplussed. He scratched his head, considering.

"It's a campfire story," advised Travis. "So it should be something scary."

The sandy-haired hobbit nodded after a moment. "I've got one. But this isn't just some ghost tale told to children. See, this is a true story, about Mr. Frodo's uncle Mr. Bilbo. And it happened soon after his own adventure got started."

"Sam, this wouldn't be the story about William, Bert, and Tom, would it?" guessed Frodo with a grin, settling back on his rock. Apparently he was not the only thinking of stone trolls.

"Yes, Mr. Frodo, that's the story," answered Sam, holding his hands to the fire's warmth before beginning. "Now, Mr. Bilbo had set off on a journey with thirteen dwarves –"

"Wait – do you mean dwarves like in a fairy tale or little people like you?" asked Trip.

Frodo choked on the water from the mug he had just raised to his lips.

Sam shot Trip an irritated look, obviously insulted at the comment, and Frodo could not blame him. "I am not a dwarf! I'm a hobbit – a halfling! Dwarves are warriors, and craftsmen."

"Shorter than you, but bigger than us," added Frodo. "With long beards and axes."

"I was just about to explain all that." said Sam, with another annoyed glance at Trip. "So, as I was saying, Mr. Bilbo had started a journey with thirteen of these hardy folk, and their pony had just taken a fright. The pony bolted, so they ended up not having much food and got quite hungry…" Sam's voice settled into the cadence required for Bilbo's famous troll story.

Frodo leaned forward, letting his head rest on a hand, as Sam continued the tale and the dwarves began arguing about who should approach the mysterious campfire. His friend had always done a good impersonation of the trolls, and he looked forward to the reaction to his story. It seemed to Frodo that an age had gone by since the last time he sat in safety around a campfire in the dark, with trolls only a fearsome tale in a hobbit's mind. Soon the burglar had been sent out and Sam's voice had ensnared the attention of the _Enterprise_ crewmembers sitting around their own campfire.

* * *

Trip watched helplessly as two huge reptilian Xindi aimed their weapon at Earth. They stood there, discussing among themselves the best place to strike his planet, and as they decided once again to target Florida, he remembered that he was not helpless. He raised his hand, on which sat a magnificent golden Ring covered with words written in flame. He looked at his hand in amazement, as if he had never seen it before, then laughed as he clenched his fist, feeling a strange power coursing from the Ring into his very veins. The Xindi stared at him in horror before falling down, dead, and the weapon exploded. Earth was saved. The light emanating from the magic ring flared before his own eyes… 

…and he sat up. Travis was snoring in the tent they shared. His own heart was pounding. Closing his eyes, Trip tired to slow his breathing. The power he wielded in his dream had felt so real. He had commanded things to happen, and they had, as easily and effortlessly as thinking.

The engineer ran trembling fingers through his hair. It was wrong of him to covet Frodo's Ring, and he knew it. Yet that did not stop him from dreaming of it. He had done so now every night since his attack on Frodo, except for the first one, when Phlox had given him a sedative. Drawing a shaky breath, Trip stood up, pulling a nearby shirt on over his pajamas and shoving his bare feet into shoes. Maybe it would help him to get some fresh air. T'Pol had been attempting to instruct him in meditation since the incident in the Shuttle Bay, but he certainly couldn't try to meditate in a cramped tent occupied by a snoring Helmsman. The campfire might work, though, and would provide a focal point as well as a candle could.

Making his way down the short hill to the campfire, he thought briefly of waking T'Pol to ask her assistance with meditating, but dismissed the thought immediately. She was sharing a tent with Hoshi, and disturbing her would mean awakening both of them.

As he got closer to the fire, he saw that it had already been stirred back to life by the small person who sat before it. Although it was dark, Trip knew without a doubt it must be one of the hobbits. He stopped in front of the small fire and looked over to see Frodo regarding him, the PADD in his hands lowered to his lap. A strangely-shaped piece of wood stuck out of the hobbit's mouth. Frodo removed it before speaking, placing the unfamiliar item on the rock next to him.

"I take it you couldn't sleep either?"

Trip shook his head. This was the last person he wanted to see after the dream he'd just had. Maybe the best thing to do now was to just leave and take a walk, although taking a walk in the dark on an unfamiliar planet was probably not a very intelligent idea either. He stared into the fire, avoiding the hobbit's gaze.

"Well, perhaps you might look this over for me." Frodo stood and approached him, handing Trip his PADD. "It is an exercise for my English lessons. I would welcome your help."

Taking the PADD, Trip sat down on one of the rocks by the fire and read the display. It featured various pictures, with words next to them. Even though all of the words were not spelled correctly, Trip was impressed. He doubted he could have mastered foreign letters in only a few days.

"Not bad," he stated after examining the vocabulary list. "Dog only has one 'g,' though, and mushroom has two 'o's. The rest of these are correct."

"Well, that is better than I had reckoned," said the hobbit. "The language of the Elves was far harder to learn, although I don't suppose I could say that I completely mastered it. Not like Bilbo." Frodo took the PADD from him and began pressing the buttons, apparently correcting his mistakes.

Trip sent a shower of sparks into the air. "And who are the Elves?"

"Another race on Arda. They are very tall, and fair and wise. They are immortal. My cousin Bilbo can speak with them, and taught me some of their speech."

Trip frowned. Something wasn't adding up. He looked down at Frodo. "I thought Bilbo was your uncle."

The hobbit shrugged, running his fingers absently along the unknown wooden piece. "He is actually my elder cousin, but of such an age to me I often call him uncle. He lives with the Elves now."

"I guess that's not normal?"

Frodo shook his head, and wiped at the piece of wood with his shirt. "No, it's not normal at all. Most hobbits never leave Sûzat." He placed the wooden item back in his mouth.

"What _is _that?" asked Trip finally, curiosity getting the better of him. "I've never seen anything like it."

Frodo took it out of his mouth and held it up for Trip's inspection. "It's a pipe. Alas, it is a pipe missing its pipe-weed, for I ran out of mine months ago. But it was my habit to smoke at times while studying."

Trip took the pipe, examining it carefully. The well-worn item had a long stem, with a smooth bowl at one end. The pipe was plain, and made of well-polished wood, except for a few faint carvings around the outside of the bowl, almost worn away from use. A faintly sweet smell still clung to it. "So you use this for smoking," he mused. "I guess you put your – what did you call it – pipe-weed in the bowl?"

Frodo nodded.

"You know, my great-grandpa used to smoke." Trip handed the pipe back to the hobbit. "He smoked cigarettes, though, not a pipe. They looked like pipe-weed wrapped in paper, I guess. I've never tried it. Most people stopped smoking so they wouldn't get lung cancer, but it was popular on Earth for a very long time. I think it really became unpopular in my grandparents' generation. Of course, there's a cure for cancer now."

"What is 'cancer'?" asked Frodo, pronouncing the word carefully. "An illness?"

"Yeah." Trip looked at the hobbit's upturned face, marked now by a frown. "You shouldn't smoke, Frodo. It's not healthy."

The hobbit laughed again, a quick, short sound. "In all my life, I have never heard of someone becoming ill simply from smoking. Well, not unless it was his first time, or if it was a particularly cheap leaf," he amended. "Perhaps our pipe-weed is simply different from yours."

"Maybe," conceded Trip, feeling sad. Another equally logical answer came to his tired mind. It could be that hobbits, living in a world without electricity, where almost everything must be cooked or heated with fire, might not even notice the unhealthy effects of breathing in the extra smoke. He glanced at Frodo. The hobbits were so small their lungs were probably already coated with poisons. Had Phlox checked them for signs of lung cancer? Did they even have the right to cure the hobbits of such a terrible disease? Humans had lived in a similar condition for a very long time.

He stared into the fire once more, uncertain how to broach the topic he needed to, but knowing he had to say something. He had to talk to Frodo, and not about the harmful aspects of smoking. Next to him, Frodo once again picked up his PADD and began pressing buttons.

He sighed. It was probably better just to get it over with. "Look, I have to apologize for what happened the other day –"

"Trip, there is no need – " protested the hobbit.

"No, let me finish," demanded the engineer. "I'm more sorry than I can say about what I did. If I can make it up to you in any way, just say the word and I'll do it." The words left him in an almost incomprehensible rush, but he felt some of the shame of his actions lessen. "I mean it, anything. I feel just awful about the whole mess. I've never been one of those guys that wants all sorts of things, well other than the latest in technology, I guess, but I'm on _Enterprise_. I've got that already. I can't believe I almost killed you over a piece of jewelry. I – " He felt the hobbit's hands grab his arm.

"Please stop!" Frodo stood in front of him, looking up at him with earnest eyes. "It was not your fault," he said, his voice firm. "You are a kind and valiant man. The Ring found some weakness within you, and used it to Its own purpose, just as it did to Boromir. It was not his fault that he fell, and it is not yours either."

"Frodo, I could have killed you!" Trip pulled his arm away, unable to look the hobbit in the eyes.

"But you did not. And I forgive you," said the hobbit quietly. "Your actions were not your own."

"Well, what if it happens again?" Trip stood, stepping away from Frodo. The events of his dream and his desperate desire for the Ring remained uppermost in his mind. Even as he wondered if he might still be a danger to Frodo, he could see it in his mind's eye: a perfect, shining, golden Ring.

"You know now of the peril," said Frodo. "You must fight it."

Trip tried to think of something else, anything else. He stepped closer to the fire, watching as hungry flames devoured the innards of a thick log. "What happened to this Boromir you mentioned?"

The hobbit sank down again on a rock. "He died," he said simply.

Trip looked at him in shock. "From this? From trying to take the Ring?"

"I do not know," answered Frodo. The light from the campfire glinted on his dark curls as he bowed his head, turning them amber. "I was not there when he died. He assaulted me, so I put the Ring on and fled. When last I saw him, he was raving."

"Then how do you know he's dead?"

Frodo straightened, looking into the fire. "Sam and I met his brother in the wild. He heard Boromir's horn and saw, or thought he saw, his brother's corpse, prepared as if for a funeral. The vision seemed true. And Boromir's horn was found washed along the same river where we parted from our company."

"So, you think something happened to him?"

"That is what I fear," said Frodo. "That something terrible occurred after we departed. I don't suppose I shall ever find out now."

Trip closed his eyes, rubbing his face. He felt exhausted, and his head ached. The dream had taken a lot out of him. Would he ever stop thinking of the Ring?

"You must be weary," commented Frodo. "Why do you not return to your tent?"

The man opened his eyes with a yawn. "I am real tired, but – " He paused, debating whether or not to continue. He did not want to alienate the hobbit further.

"Yes?"

"I dreamed of It. That's what woke me. I'm always dreaming about It." He shook his head. "T'Pol's been trying to teach me some of her Vulcan meditation, to help me control my emotions, but I think I'd have to be a lot better at it to see any results."

Frodo gave him a strange look. "Has she really?" he murmured. "She tried yesterday to teach me of such things, also." The hobbit shook his head ruefully. "I was an utter failure. I think hobbits are not made to be without emotions. Even so, I can see how feeling less fear might be a very useful skill in certain situations." Abruptly, the hobbit gasped and shot to his feet. "Oh, I have been a fool!" he cried. "Why did I not think of it sooner?"

"What?" Trip watched in confusion as Frodo turned and began walking quickly in the direction of the hobbits' tent. "What is it?"

"Half a moment," answered the hobbit absently, melting into the shadows beyond the light of the fire.

Trip, bewildered, sat down on one of the logs before the campfire and rested his aching head on his arms. The next thing he knew he was being shaken gently and opened his eyes to see Frodo before him, his glittering glass light in his hands. As he sat up, Frodo pressed the glass into his hands.

"You're giving me your light?" asked Trip sleepily. "How's that supposed to help?"

"It has eased me before when I struggled with the temptation of the Ring," explained Frodo. "Perhaps it shall aid you as well."

Trip smiled as he closed his hands around the phial. The liquid within shone with an unblemished pureness, at first reflecting the redness of his hands before gleaming gently with white light. He felt relief at its touch, but more than that, any desire he felt toward the Ring seemed to have disappeared. Strength had returned to him, and, although he felt simple tiredness from the sleep denied him, the mental anguish plaguing him since his attempt to take the Ring was gone.

"You cannot keep it, I'm afraid," stated Frodo with a smile of his own, "but you may have the star-glass for a little while."

Trip frowned, concerned. "What? You just said it helps you. Don't you need it?"

"There is no Dark Lord here," explained Frodo. "I can manage without, for now." He shrugged. "When I need the glass again, I shall tell you." He touched the tip of the shining glass with a small finger. "It's odd. It appeared brighter in the spider's lair. It has never shone as strongly since then."

"Well, wasn't it really dark in there?" responded Trip as he stood up, amazed he could make any sense at all as drained as he felt right now. "It probably just looked brighter to you because it was so much darker.'

Frodo nodded. "I imagine you're right."

Trip regarded the glass closely, shaking it from side to side. Although it sparkled, it certainly didn't appear to provide enough light to walk by. "Does the light ever get stronger?"

"Oh yes, but I shouldn't try to do so if I were you."

"Why not?" Trip shook it more vigorously, trying to increase the light's output. If he could increase the power to a warp engine, he should be able to figure out how to make an alien light shine brighter. His attempt failed, so he turned it over in his hands, trying to see what made it glitter.

"It works better with Elvish," said Frodo with a quiet laugh. "But I would rather not risk Jonathon's wrath by waking him in the middle of the night. It is quite bright when lit."

The engineer blinked, and grinned, embarrassed. He was clearly too tired to think clearly. "You have a point. Sorry, I guess I wasn't thinking."

Frodo stooped in front of the fire, picking up the stick left lying near it earlier. "Perhaps you should get some rest now."

Trip yawned, and nodded. "What about you?"

"Oh, I shall be finding my own bed soon enough," answered the hobbit with a yawn of his own. "But I can't leave the fire burning."

"Right. Well, I'll see you in the morning." Trip turned and stumbled in the direction of his tent.

"Sleep well," called the hobbit after him.

* * *

Hoshi turned onto her side as Trip's footsteps faded away. She had been having difficulty falling asleep, and had awoken to the sounds of two male voices quietly discussing pipe-weed. For a moment she thought it was only a strange dream brought on by sleeping in the air of an alien world. Then she had recognized that the voices belonged to Trip and Frodo. 

She had not intended to persist in listening to them; in fact, she had even covered her head with a pillow. But when the conversation turned to what was clearly the events of the mysterious Shuttle Bay Incident, as she had begun thinking of it, Hoshi had been compelled to pay attention. Maybe she could find out what had happened.

The discussion had become stranger with every word spoken. Trip had almost killed Frodo? At those words Hoshi had gasped, then glanced worriedly over at the other side of tent. T'Pol had not stirred. Reassured that the Vulcan could not possibly be awake, she had continued to eavesdrop.

Outside, she heard movement at the campfire, the rustling of logs being moved and a brief scraping sound. Frodo was putting out the fire. A few minutes passed, and silence descended on the campsite. Hoshi had already noticed that the hobbits could move suprisingly quietly when they wanted to. She was tempted to see if the hobbit had returned to his tent or was still sitting there.

With a sigh and a little shiver in the cool night air, Hoshi pulled her blanket up to her shoulders and once more pondered the conversation she had heard. They had spoken of a ring, talking of it as a piece of jewelry that could control people and needed to be fought. She wondered if the word 'ring' might not be some kind of nickname for something else, because it made no sense that a ring could do such things. Add to that the fact that she had never once seen either Trip or Frodo wearing a ring, and the conversation became even more confusing.

The linguist ran words through her mind, trying to think of every way the word ring could be used. She thought of acronyms and pondered each word she had heard the hobbits speak in their language. Had they ever said something that sounded like 'ring'? Finally, Hoshi fell asleep as she began to speculate on the pronounciation of certain Vulcan words.


	9. Strange New World

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fan fiction, and written only for entertainment purposes. The characters belong to their respective creators: J.R.R. Tolkien, his estate, and possibly New Line Cinema; and Paramount Pictures and their writers. The alien planet 'Relaxation Station' belongs to me.

**Author's notes:** Sorry for such a long wait for this chapter. Real life got in the way of writing fanfiction, I'm afraid. Hopefully you will feel this chapter was worth the wait!

**Chapter 9:** Strange New World

The soft light of early morning peeping under blue canvas was the first thing Samwise Gamgee saw as he woke. Yawning slightly, he blinked and sat up. Not far from his tent he could hear quiet voices and the sound of people moving about.

Sam looked to his left, where his master slept on his side, breathing heavily. One hand was tucked under his head, the other rested limply on the floor of the tent. It would be a shame to disturb him from such a peaceful sleep, and Sam had no intention of doing so. He rubbed his eyes and rose quietly to his feet, then stooped to spread his own blanket over Frodo, tugging one end of it down to cover the other hobbit's feet. Frodo's hand twitched, but he did not awaken, and Sam paused to quickly dress himself before padding out of the tent as softly as he could.

The morning light greeted him as he stepped out and closed the tent flap behind him. A few people sat at the cold remains of last night's campfire, and he made his way down to join them.

"Good morning Sam!" called Travis cheerily, holding a silver canister. "Coffee?"

"Oh, yes, please," answered the hobbit, sitting down on the log next to him, and accepting the cup of the warm brew with thanks. Across from them sat Archer and T'Pol. T'Pol already had a PADD in her hands and was reading from it as she drank her coffee. Sam looked around the quiet campsite, finally noticing what he had missed that was bothering him. "Shouldn't the birds be singing by now?" he asked.

"There are no birds on this world," stated T'Pol without looking up from her PADD.

"No birds?" Sam scratched at his head. "It's a strange place this is."

"It bothered me a little, too," admitted Archer, glancing at the forest. "You can't expect them to have developed on every planet, Sam."

The hobbit shrugged. "If you say so, sir," he agreed, and sipped at his coffee. Travis and Archer began discussing how they might set up a game they called 'football,' and who might be interested in playing.

Draining his mug, the hobbit set it down and stood. "I'll just be heading down to the stream for a moment," he explained awkwardly.

"Do not wash in the stream," cautioned T'Pol before he could take a step. "There are cleaning facilities already set up over there."

Sam blushed. "Oh, I don't need to bother with those. The stream's good enough for me."

T'Pol looked at him coldly. "There may be microbes in the stream that are harmful to you. That is the reason why those facilities have been constructed. If you do not wish to visit Dr. Phlox, I suggest you use them."

"Oh. Then I surely will do as you say, lady." Sam nodded to her and turned in the direction of the stream before pausing and heading back to the tent he shared with Frodo to collect the towel he had brought from their quarters and personal items from his pack.

* * *

Frodo stepped out of their tent, tucking a damp lock of hair behind his ear as he bent to close the tent flap. Sam was sitting just outside the tent, trying to attract Porthos' interest with his ball, and Frodo shook his head in amusement. Sam was determined to teach the dog how to fetch. Porthos seemed just as determined not to learn. 

"Hey Frodo, turn around!" called Travis, and the hobbit did so, to see the dark-skinned man holding a strange-looking box about the size of his hand in front of his eyes as he looked at the two hobbits and the dog.

"What are you doing?" asked Frodo, confused. He started down the hill toward Travis.

"I took your picture," said Travis, lowering the little box.

Sam joined Frodo, Porthos tagging behind. "What did you take?"

"I said I took your picture –" Travis paused. "It's like making a drawing of you, only done all at once, and looks much more real than a drawing. We call them photographs."

"I'm afraid I don't follow you," said Frodo as he stopped in front of Travis.

"It's another of your magic machines, is it?" asked Sam.

The man laughed. "It is," he admitted. "Here, you can have a try." He handed the box to Sam, and crouched down next to him. "Here, hold it like this – " Travis adjusted Sam's hold on the small machine and held it up to the hobbit's eye.

"Oh!" exclaimed Sam. "It all looks so close!" He lowered the box to look around, then looked through the box again. "This is a marvel, and no mistake."

"And you haven't even taken a picture yet," commented Travis with an amused smile. "Find something you'd like a picture of, and take a look at it through the camera lens."

"The what?"

"The camera lens," explained Travis, pointing at the appropriate part. "The machine is called a camera. The lens shows you what you're taking a picture of."

The hobbit looked around at the nearly empty campsite. Most of the crew were playing their game off in the glade beyond the tents. "I'll have a picture of you and Mr. Frodo, if you both don't mind, begging your pardon."

"Not at all," said Travis, walking over to Frodo. "Wait, I'll sit down so it's easier for you, Sam."

Frodo, following his example, also began to sit down to ease Sam's work.

Travis laughed, and stopped him with a hand. "No, no! You stand, I'll sit. It's just because I'm so tall and you're – not. It's easier for him if we're close to the same height."

Frodo frowned. He had seen artists making portraits before, and the height of the hobbits involved had never appeared to be a problem. Indeed, he remembered a painting done of his cousin Merry and Merry's parents, and the fact that Merry had been a little lad then had only presented a problem when he felt the need to move while being sketched.

Travis looked up at him from where he now sat on the grass. "You have to look at the camera, Frodo. Smile!"

Feeling rather foolish, Frodo followed the man's instructions.

"Now press down on that button under the first finger of your right hand, Sam," ordered Travis.

Sam's hand moved slightly. "All right," he called. "Now what do I do?"

"That's it, you're done!" said Travis, bounding to his feet. "Congratulations, you now know how to use a camera." He pulled a PADD out of the back pocket of his trousers and took the camera from Sam. "Here you are," he said a moment later, showing them the PADD. Taking it, Frodo saw with amazement the exact likeness of himself and Travis. The man reached down to press a button on the PADD and the picture changed to show himself, Sam, and Porthos in front of their tent.

"Now that is magic," said Sam in awe, standing next to him. "Different than the Elves, of course, but still, a kind of magic." He looked up at Travis. "Your folk do have a way with machines."

"We haven't always," said Travis. "It took a very long time."

Frodo's interest was sparked. "A statement like that needs a tale to go with it."

Travis laughed loudly. "I'm not going to tell you the entire history of humanity. It's a beautiful day, and I don't want to waste my chance to see an alien world. Captain Archer might be willing to tell you the history of the space movement, though. Maybe at the campfire tonight."

Frodo nodded. The weather was wonderful, and the valley where camp had been established was blanketed in soft green grass rivaling that of his homeland. He looked forward to a pleasant day of exploring the area with Sam now that the camp seemed settled. "Fair enough," the hobbit said. "The story can wait."

Travis turned, then handed his camera to Sam.

"For me?" The hobbit turned the item over in his hands. "What if I break it?"

"Well, I hope you don't. I have another one I can use, though. I'm sure you'll have a lot of fun with it. You should take it with you if you leave camp, you never know what you might see."

Sam thanked him, and Travis went off in the direction of the crewmembers playing their game in the field.

* * *

Hours later the two hobbits found themselves standing before the forest that surrounded most of the campsite. "Now what do you suppose is in there, Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam, considering the strange, tall trees. 

Frodo walked up to him, placing a hand on the smooth trunk of the dark tree in front of them and considered the silent trees. Not since Lórien had he entered a wood for the sheer pleasure of walking under broad leaves in a warm breeze. Ithilien's thriving groves and glades had beckoned, but Sméagol's frenetic pace and fear of discovery had driven them onwards with little chance to see it more closely. The Ring's growing weight had been a consideration then as well, leaving him too exhausted by day's end to care much about exploring the landscape they passed through. Frodo shivered at the memory, and dragged his wandering thoughts back to the present. "Hoshi did say there were no people here," he answered at length. Frodo found himself also wondering what might lie in the forest, on a world that had no people, then almost laughed at his own thoughts. Surely he had already had enough adventure to last him more than a lifetime.

Sam's words echoed his own thoughts. "Just think of a forest in a place with no people, and no birds," he said wistfully. "I wonder what it looks like inside?"

"Why, Samwise Gamgee! I do believe you've been corrupted." said Frodo with a fond smile. He felt oddly relieved to not be alone in his thoughts and shook his head in mock sadness. "It's all this time you've been spending among Men, no doubt. Imagine such a stout hobbit looking for an adventure. For shame!" He laughed at the look on Sam's face.

"Now don't make fun, Mr. Frodo," chided Sam, laughing in turn. "I was being serious. I'd like to take a peep at what's here. And I could make some photos with the camera, too."

A rustle in the grass nearby interrupted their conversation. Porthos came up behind them, and began heading into the woods, sniffing intensely along the roots of the trees.

"Hullo! Porthos!" called Sam. The dog ignored him, and continued into the forest. Sam ran forward after him. "Get back here, lad! Where do you think you're going?" Hobbit and dog disappeared behind the tree trunks and thick foliage. Finally Sam re-emerged, carrying the dog by his scruff before setting him gently on the ground. "There's a path in there," he announced. "Not well trod, but a path all the same."

"A path?" Frodo stepped forward, peering between tree trunks. There, he could almost make it out. "But there are no people here. Who made it?"

"Maybe it's an animal track."

Frodo looked at the other hobbit. Had Sam sounded excited? "What is it?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking…well, why _not_ go in there? it might be nice to get a better look at some of them plants. It must be different from the forests we've seen at home."

"That's true," agreed Frodo, his curiosity growing in spite of his earlier remonstrations. "You're right, Sam. And after all, why not?" he said finally. "I don't see any harm in it, so long as we don't stray too far from camp. Besides, it isn't as if this is the Old Forest. It must be safe, or else why should Jonathan have chosen to camp here?" He turned back to the forest. "I could use a walk, in any case. Camp is starting to feel quite close."

"Wait a bit, then, Mr. Frodo. I'll just bring the dog back. Captain Jonathan wouldn't be too happy if we lost him in the woods." Sam whistled to Porthos, who followed him in apparent obedience, happily wagging his tail. Frodo set his back against the rough trunk of the tree, looking up to regard the thick leaves of the tall trees as he waited for Sam. The underside of the leaves seemed to be almost a violet color. The tree was certainly not as tall as a mallorn, yet was still far larger than trees of the Shire.

"I'm back," announced Sam, handing Sting in its scabbard to Frodo as he straightened and stepped away from the unfamiliar tree.

Frodo took his sheathed sword with a frown, but nevertheless attached it to his belt. "I don't think I'll be needing Sting. I thought you only meant to go for a short walk! Faramir's staves might have suited better for a stroll through the woods."

Sam was already wearing his own sword. "You never know, Mr. Frodo. It can't hurt to have them. Something made that path." He paused.

"Yes, small animals did," answered Frodo, grinning over his shoulder at Sam as he stepped in between tree trunks to walk toward the path. "Rabbits and squirrels, I imagine, or perhaps something bigger, like a deer. Maybe a fox or two."

Sam followed him. "Well, if there are coneys and squirrels here, then at least we might catch some and have a real dinner tonight. Leastways it ought to be better than the last time I cooked coney for you, with no taters and no herbs to be had."

Frodo laughed again, feeling his spirits lifting as they pushed through the burgeoning growth. Memories of treks through Shire woods with Bilbo came to his mind. Then his greatest wish had been to catch a glimpse of Elves passing through the Shire, now it was the simple act of walking beneath trees without fear of capture. "My dear Sam, if any hobbit could find us food on this strange world, it would be you. Better yet, find us some mushrooms, and I shall be indebted to you. Yet I doubt we could find enough game for the entire camp all by ourselves."

"Of course, we don't even know if there are coneys here," said Sam with a sigh.

"Well, there must be…" Frodo's voice trailed off as the two hobbits broke through the thick foliage covering the entrance to the path. The trees here were enormous, and seemed even larger than those on the outside of the forest. Thick trunks covered in bark so dark as to be almost black spiraled majestically into the sky, topped with large blue-green leaves. Smaller trees and bushes also twisted into strange, circular shapes and carried leaves of a similar color. Just to their left stood brightly colored orange spikes thrusting up from the ground, which reached to the hobbit's knees. Here and there circular flowers popped up beside trees and in the crooks of branches. The path was lined with fallen leaves, darkened, but not dried. The forest was utterly silent, even the wind did not rustle the leaves. A strange smell redolent of spices wafted through the air; although strange to notice in a forest, the rich smell was not unpleasant.

"Glory!" breathed Sam, looking around in wonder as he stepped onto the small path, which ran between the trees.

Frodo continued to stare up at the trees, enraptured. Although dark, like the Old Forest, it did not feel threatening, yet neither did it seem ancient like the woods of Lothlórien. It exuded stillness. The barely discernible path seemed to begin near where they stood and traveled off to his right. Frodo took a few steps, then turned to Sam, who seemed rooted to where he stood, still gazing at the trees in awe.

"Coming, Sam?" he asked. The other hobbit joined him with a nod.

They went slowly along the small path, often stopping to look more closely at a colorful plant or admire the purple ivy trailing along many of the trees. Occasionally Sam found reasons to use Travis's camera. As they continued they placed stones at the base of trees so as not to lose their way. Several times it was difficult to discern whether they followed a path or merely a space between trees. They spoke in whispers, hesitant to disturb the stillness of the forest, and went along as quietly as hobbits could. At length the two hobbits could see a break in the trees, where sunlight shone down, and made their way toward it.

"Look at this!" Frodo paused in his progress toward the clearing, and went back to Sam, who was regarding a strange-looking plant in front of him. Instead of a flower it had a large, pod-like fruit at least two hands wide, covered with brown speckles.

"I think that's worth a picture," said Frodo. The odd plant was actually quite grotesque, and he disliked it immediately. Still, he could not expect to favor everything here.

Sam took out the camera, and stepped closer to the plant as he raised it to his eyes. Abruptly, the pod snapped wide open and Sam leaped back, knocking both Frodo and himself to the ground.

Sam stood shakily and helped Frodo to his feet. "It's a hobbit-eating plant!"

Frodo handed Sam his camera, which had been thrown well away from them when Sam fell. The pod had already closed itself. He glanced with a shudder at the plant, memories of an angry willow tree, a man in yellow boots, and a fair river-daughter uppermost in his mind. The serene feeling of the forest was gone.

"Do you want to go back?" asked Sam, his brow creased in worry.

"Perhaps we should," admitted Frodo. "But that clearing is only a few steps away." He pointed ahead of them. "We may as well see what's there before turning around."

The two hobbits made their way down the path, and came around a bend in the trees to see a magnificent view of the eastern mountains before them. Ahead of them stood a cliff, bordered by large rocks, that fell into a ravine. From where they stood they could clearly see the beginnings of the mountain range. Beyond the ravine sprawled a small glade, directly across from their clearing, which stood at the foot of the first of the mountains. The mountains in the distance gleamed purple in the sunlight.

"Mr. Frodo!" gasped Sam, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him down onto the ground.

"What is it?" Frodo glanced at him in concern.

"There's people over there!"

"What? Sam, there can't be." Nevertheless, Frodo crept behind one of the rocks near the edge of the cliff with the other hobbit at his shoulder. Peering between rocks he followed Sam's gaze and saw, to his astonishment, what looked like the forms of people in the glade across from where he and Sam now hid. At first he thought they might simply be trees, but then the figures moved.

"I think you're right," he said to the other hobbit. The people were much too far away for him to tell a great deal about them.

Frodo pulled his hood over his head. "We should get back as quick as we can," he said. "Jonathan and the others need to know about this." Sam nodded.

* * *

T'Pol frowned at the rustling in the woods behind her. She sat away from the tents in relative quiet, going over the analysis of the composition of the chain Frodo had worn around his neck before it was melted in the process meant to melt his Ring. 

The Vulcan set her PADD down and turned to see the two hobbits crashing through the foliage. They looked disheveled, with hair blown askew by the wind, and a leaf caught in Samwise's light curls.

"There are people here!" cried Frodo as soon as he saw here. Both of the hobbits were clearly overly excited.

"We saw them, down by the mountains," added Samwise.

T'Pol considered the situation calmly. Although there was a possibility that the hobbits had seen something their scans declared impossible, there was a greater likelihood they had not. The hobbits were half the size of a full-grown human; if any spores or pollen were present on this world that could affect members of the _Enterprise_, it would most likely strike the hobbits first. Add to that the fact that the hobbits had been in the forest, and it seemed a satisfactory explanation for their disarray.

The Vulcan picked up the tricorder that sat next to her PADD on the grass. She scanned the hobbits, but the device picked up no unusual readings.

"What are you doing?" asked Frodo as she stood up, collecting her equipment. "We must speak to Jonathan. Where is he?"

"You need to be examined by Dr. Phlox," she stated, noting that both hobbits did not seem pleased by her statement. "Come with me."

They followed her, protesting.

"We aren't sick!" claimed Samwise.

"I will find Captain Archer once you see Dr. Phlox," she compromised.

"This could be quite important, T'Pol," said Frodo, running to catch up to her as she strode into the encampment. "I really think it would be best if we spoke to Jonathan first."

They came to the canvas-covered area set up for Phlox and his assistants. Ensign Mayweather was sitting up on a pallet, one ankle bandaged. Both turned to look at them as they approached.

The doctor came over. "Yes? What seems to be the matter?"

"They were in the forest," answered T'Pol. "They claim to have seen people."

Phlox frowned, and reached for his medical tricorder.

"We aren't ill," insisted Frodo. "We did see them! Why do you not believe us?" He crossed in arms and cast T'Pol an unhappy glare as Phlox began scanning him. "You haven't liked either of us from the very first moment. Or are you angry that I did so poorly with your meditations? Truly, I had not meant to fall asleep. I was not aware that I was so weary."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. She had always treated the two small aliens with respect. "That is not so," she said coolly. "I see no reason to feel anger because you were unsuccessful on your first attempt to meditate. Even humans cannot master it their first time, and I wouldn't expect a hobbit to do so. You are a species worthy of extensive study, but I have not had the time to learn more about you. All of my time has been spent trying to locate your homeworld."

The hobbit's face reddened. "Of course. I do apologize. You've been given a lot of work on our behalf. It is just, well –" He broke off as Phlox stepped away from him and approached Samwise with his tricorder. "It's just that I haven't seen you smile once since we met you."

"Vulcans don't do that real often," said Trip as he stepped around the canvas entryway, Captain Archer leaning on him.

"What happened?" asked Phlox, evidence of concern manifest in his voice. "Really, if the lot of you felt the need to indulge in a game, did you have to pick one that is so violent? I've already treated two sprained ankles and numerous bumps and bruises." He assisted Captain Archer onto the pallet Mayweather was now limping away from.

Archer looked up at her as Phlox examined him for injuries. "Why are the hobbits here? They weren't at the football game."

"Thankfully," muttered Phlox as he reached for a hypospray. "Captain, you will be pleased to know you have a bruised knee, nothing more." Trip breathed a sigh of relief from where he stood near the entrance.

T'Pol turned to face Archer, arms resting comfortably at ease behind her back. "The hobbits claim to have seen people in the forest."

"You went into the woods alone?' demanded Trip. "What were you thinking?"

"We had our swords," said Frodo, glancing up at the engineer. "We were not defenseless."

"Swords – " began Trip, disbelief apparent in his voice. "What good would swords be against – "

The Captain interrupted the present conversation with a raised hand, standing tentatively on his injured leg. "What did you find?" he asked, glancing at Trip, who pressed his lips together and placed his hands on his hips.

"There is a path that runs through the forest," reported Frodo. "We followed it for a little while, and it took us to the edge of the mountains to the east of here."

Archer nodded. "And you saw people?"

The hobbit nodded. "At the end of the path there is a ravine, and directly across from the path, a grove of trees. That is where we saw what we thought to be people."

"I have not detected any change in the hobbits' biochemistry since the last time I scanned them," noted Phlox as he returned his hypospray to its medical kit. "If they are hallucinating, it's not showing up on my scans."

"What did these people look like?" asked Archer, looking down at the hobbits from where he stood.

The two hobbits shared a glance. "Well, it would be difficult to say," said Frodo finally. "They were quite far away. I'd think they must be tall, at least man-sized. If they were shorter, we might not have seen them so clearly from such a distance."

Archer looked at T'Pol. "Is it possible we may have missed some bio signs?"

"It's possible," admitted T'Pol, nodding her head slightly. "However, the probability that we failed to notice signs of alien life is low. We selected this planet most carefully."

"Can you take us there?" The Captain limped forward carefully, leaning once more on Trip.

"Captain," cautioned Phlox. "You should rest that leg. You've just suffered an injury, even if it was only a bruise."

"I'll go slowly," allowed Archer as Trip helped him out of the tent. T'Pol followed the two men and the hobbits as they exited.

"Travis!" called Archer over to where the helmsman stood, talking with Ensign Sato. "I want you to start dismantling the camp, start getting people back to _Enterprise_." He pulled out his communicator and stepped away from the small group of officers. T'Pol could hear him addressing Lieutenant Reed, who had remained in charge of the bridge on board the_ Enterprise_.

"What's going on?" asked Hoshi as she and Travis walked over to the group of officers and hobbits.

"The hobbits think the planet may be inhabited," Archer informed her. At her excited gasp he grinned. "Let's find out if they're right."

* * *

T'Pol strode behind Hoshi as they, the Captain, and Trip followed the two hobbits through the brightly-colored forest. As they made their way through the trees, she took readings of the fauna and flora they passed near. The foliage was clearly thriving and merited a more thorough analysis. Perhaps once they ascertained precisely what the hobbits had seen she could return for a lengthier investigation of the woods. Possibly Dr. Phlox would also be interested in accompanying her; at least some of the local plant life should possess qualities beneficial to medical research. 

While they walked through the trees, occasionally having to pause to stoop under low-lying branches that the hobbits walked under without difficulty, T'Pol took notice of how effortlessly the two hobbits passed through the forest. Her initial assumption that she and the humans would need to walk slowly to accommodate the hobbits' diminished stature and refusal to wear protective footwear proved false. Their unexpected speed seemed to lie in their ability to assist each other over any obstacles they encountered immediately and without exchanging a word, as if each caught the thought of the other. The quick grasp of an elbow as one stumbled, a steadying hand on a shoulder as the other stepped over roots thicker than his own furry feet, and the immediate clasp of hands as the two small creatures clambered together over a fallen log half their size belied their ease with one another. They had clearly traveled together either often or over some great distance, and not in a motorized vehicle or on the back of a mammal, but on foot.

It was as the narrow forest path began to broaden that T'Pol first noticed the humming. Hoshi's sensitive ears picked it up next, and the exolinguist was quick to respond.

"Is that you, Sam?" The hobbit blushed as she addressed him.

"Aye, 'tis me," he bashfully agreed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bother you – "

"No, I like it," Hoshi smiled encouragingly. "Please don't stop. It's not often that we get to experience other cultures' art."

"Well, I don't know that I'd be calling it art. 'Tis only a walking-song."

"Bilbo might object to that," commented Frodo. "I'm sure he worked hard on that bit of poetry." He turned to Hoshi. "It's an old hobbit tune, but Bilbo changed the words to it and made it into a song about adventure and exploration."

"That sounds interesting," said Hoshi. "Would you sing it to us?"

The hobbits shared a glance, then nodded, but Frodo raised a hand and stopped, turning to Hoshi. "Er – I don't want you to have the wrong idea about us – about Hobbits, I mean. It isn't usual for us to have songs about adventure, you know; it was Bilbo who started that. It isn't usual for hobbits to have adventures either. Most hobbits don't go in for that sort of thing, really. More often a hobbit walking along might sing a supper-song."

"A supper-song?" asked Trip. "What's that?"

"A song about supper, of course," answered Samwise. "But supper-songs aren't just for walking. My own Dad used to sing my sisters and I to sleep with a supper-song when I was a fauntling."

Frodo stopped suddenly and gave Samwise a sharp look. "How did a supper-song put any of you to sleep? I should think it would make you hungry."

"Ah, but it weren't supposed to help us fall asleep," said Samwise, his eyes shining. "My Dad sung it so we wouldn't have no nightmares and wake him up."

"Did it work?" asked Archer, smiling, as the hobbits started walking once more.

"Oh, aye, sir. It was wonderful dreams as I had, of roast chicken and mince-pie and puddings and strawberry tarts. I don't know if you'll recall, Mr. Frodo, but my Mum always made the best strawberry tarts for dessert."

Frodo smiled. "That she did. Bell Gamgee was known throughout Hobbiton for her skill with pastries."

Samwise sighed heavily, and paused, looking down at the ground for a moment as if overcome by some emotion, then once again continued on.

"Will you sing us your walking song?" asked Hoshi. "I'd like to hear it."

The hobbits shared a glance, then nodded. Samwise began humming the tune once more before the hobbits broke into song:

_"Upon the hearth the fire is red,  
Beneath the roof there is a bed;  
But not yet weary are our feet,  
Still round the corner we may meet  
A sudden tree or standing stone  
That none have seen but we alone.  
Tree and flower and leaf and grass,  
Let them pass! Let them pass!  
Hill and water under sky.  
Pass them by! Pass them by!"_

The hobbits had pleasant singing voices that fit well together, one having a tenor voice and the other a baritone. The humans watched them in appreciation, with grins or looks of surprise, but T'Pol found herself analyzing the music as they sang. It was not at all like Vulcan music, nor was it similar to the modern music found on Earth. The words were clearly meant to inspire feelings of excitement and curiosity in the listener, and spoke to a rustic simplicity no longer present in either Vulcan or human society, if it ever had been. T'Pol noted the hobbits' evident enjoyment in the singing of the song; it seemed as alien to her as Archer's occasional burst of anger or Trip's glances at her when he did not realize she was looking.

"_Still round the corner there may wait  
A new road or a secret gate,  
And though we pass them by today,  
Tomorrow we may come this way  
And take the hidden paths that run  
Towards the Moon or to the Sun.  
Apple, thorn, and nut and sloe,  
Let them go! Let them go!  
Sand and stone and pool and d –_"

"Oh!" exclaimed Samwise, interrupting Frodo, and stopped them, holding his arms out to the side. "You'll want to be wary of that plant." He nodded to a dark green plant with brown splotches half as high as a hobbit, standing off along the edge of the path. It had a bulbous fruit on the top of its stalk.

T'Pol stepped forward to analyze it, tricorder at the ready.

"No!" cried both hobbits simultaneously. The pod gaped open as T'Pol approached it, and she stepped back quickly, easily evading the pod.

"It's like a big Venus fly-trap," said Hoshi, staring at it. "Except uglier."

"I thought perhaps it might be guarding the clearing ahead," said Frodo, pointing to a nearby break in the trees.

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "A plant cannot guard something. It opens in response to stimuli only. It has no malevolent intent."

"Are you certain of that?" asked Frodo, eyeing the plant warily. "For I must say, I've met some rather unfriendly trees on Arda."

"A tree is a plant," insisted T'Pol as she completed her scan of the plant. The tricorder affirmed that it was only another part of the foliage on this world, and was not hazardous to them. "It cannot be unfriendly. This is also only a plant."

She turned briskly and followed the others as the hobbits indicated the way forward.

"It was just past the ridge ahead that we saw them," explained Frodo. Archer nodded and Trip pulled out a pair of binoculars he had brought. T'Pol went along with the others, sliding down to hide behind one of the several rocks that stood along the edge of the clearing. Past the rocks was the edge of a cliff that sloped into a deep ravine. Frodo pointed across to a grassy sward in front of the first of the tall mountains in the eastern range. "They stood there."

T'Pol considered the area carefully, even leaning forward to look down into the ravine, but she saw no sign of life.

"There's nothing there, Frodo," said Trip, lowering his binoculars and handing them to Archer as he stood up.

"Well, they aren't there now," admitted the hobbit. "Perhaps they've gone back to wherever they came from."

"We did see people," insisted Samwise. "We did."

"Maybe they transported themselves somewhere?" suggested Hoshi, moving to sit on one of the rocks as stared into the ravine.

Trip considered the area across from their clearing carefully, one arm resting on the knee he had propped up on a rock. "If we could take a shuttle over there we might get some answers."

Abruptly, T'Pol felt the hairs on the back of her neck tingle, and began to turn to face the forest behind them. A voice pierced through her thoughts:

_Drop your weapons!_

_

* * *

_**Author's notes: **Bilbo's walking song comes from the chapter "Three is Company" in the FotR, of course. Please don't forget to review! Your comments are always read and appreciated.


	10. The Communicator

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fan fiction, and written only for entertainment purposes. The characters belong to their respective creators: J.R.R. Tolkien, his estate, and possibly New Line Cinema; and Paramount Pictures and their writers. The alien planet and its inhabitants belong to me.

**Chapter 10:** The Communicator 

Trip had not realized he had fallen to his knees until they connected with the hard ground.

_Drop your weapons!_

The command echoed through his mind again and he glanced at Captain Archer. His hand had already closed around his phase pistol; the command carried a compulsion with it.

"Do it!" said Archer hoarsely from where he leaned against one of the larger rocks. Dimly Trip noticed that Hoshi and the hobbits had also fallen down, and were reaching for their own weapons.

Movement off to his right caught his attention and Trip saw T'Pol step forward to confront their assailants even as she tossed her pistol on to the ground. She was the only one of them who seemed to still be standing.

In front of her stood a small group of aliens looking down at them. Taller than T'Pol by a good half of a meter, they were covered with very fine fur except for their face and hands. The fur was a deep red, almost the color of drying blood, with their exposed skin but a shade lighter. They all had shoulder-length hair in varying hues of russet, brown or black. Slanted eyes in shades of yellow resembling those of a cat watched the _Enterprise_ officers and hobbits carefully. They all wore loose-fitting tunics and leggings of brown and held long poles, tipped on one end with something gold-colored, that glistened in the light.

"Drop your weapons! Now!" repeated the alien voice, resounding through his head. Someone near Trip gasped loudly. The alien commnder stepped forward, drawing his attention, and Trip belatedly realized that he was the one speaking to them telepathically. "I will not ask again."

"We are not accustomed to conversing in this manner," said T'Pol calmly. If the alien's commands were making her as dizzy as he felt, and the others looked, Trip could not tell from looking at her. "You must give my companions a moment to recover."

"You are intruders," answered the alien, but the voice in Trip's mind seemed softer now. "Slide the weapons toward me, and we may then speak with one another."

T'Pol reached down, and with a glance back at Archer, who nodded, shoved the small pile of pistols and two swords toward the aliens.

"Ask them who they are," instructed Captain Archer. Trip noticed that Hoshi, standing up beside the Captain, had pulled out a PADD and her communicator.

One alien took a threatening step forward, frowning at Hoshi, whose attention was on her instruments.

"Put it away!" cried Trip, staggering to his feet with the aid of the rock next to him.

"The metal disturbs them," confirmed T'Pol, glancing away from the gaze of the alien leader. "They ask that we give them the communicators as well. The PADD contains only a small amount of metal, and does not disturb them to the same extent."

Give up their only means of communication? He could not see how that would help the situation. "No," he mouthed silently as caught Captain Archer's eye. Archer nodded in agreement, and turned to T'Pol.

"What are their intentions?" he asked. "What do they plan on doing with us?"

T'Pol faced the aliens once more. "I have explained we need the devices to communicate with each other."

"Did you tell them about the ship?" Archer took a step closer to the Vulcan.

"No. I did not think it would be wise. They say they would like to take us back to their city, where we may meet with their leaders. They are only guards, and have little authority." She glanced at Archer quickly. "They are aware of the campsite. They have seen it. The communicators will be returned to us once we reach this city, if their leaders do not feel threatened."

Archer sighed heavily. "All right, give them the communicators. But tell them we will want our things back."

T'Pol nodded. "They say it would be dishonorable not to return them. They give you their promise."

One by one, the _Enterprise_ crewmembers tossed their communicators toward the pile of weapons. Frodo hesitated.

"If we give these up," he said worriedly, looking up at the Captain, "How shall we speak to you? You won't understand us."

"I'll understand you," insisted Hoshi. "I've been studying your language for several days. You know some English now, too."

"A few words only. And poor Sam knows none of your language."

Silence reigned for a moment before T'Pol spoke again. "I have explained the difficulty. However, they insist. They claim the metal would disturb their thought process. They will return them."

"What'll they do if we don't?" asked Trip. "If we keep our things, what can they do?"

In a heartbeat he found himself faced with a sharp gold-tipped pole resting against his chest, a tall alien in front of him. He noticed that the group was surrounded.

"Then they will kill us," said T'Pol, answering his question. "And will bring our corpses back to their city for investigation. They would rather bring us alive then dead, but it is our choice."

A small _clink_ sounded as Frodo tossed his communicator on the ground near the others, Sam emulatng him. The alien commander nodded at his subordinates, and two stepped forward to collect the weapons and communicators.

"T'Pol, who are they?" asked Archer, as the aliens stepped back, lowering their strange spears. "Do they have a name?"

"They are the Damandras."

* * *

The mismatched formation of humans, Hobbits, and Damandras marched along a long ledge leading through the ravine toward the mountains. They walked single-file, and Hoshi had to stretch to reach the handholds carved into the bluff, almost above her reach. She crept along slowly, eyeing the edge nervously. One slip and she would find herself falling down into the ravine. She felt sorry for the hobbits, unable to even come close to reaching the handholds. At first the Damandras had wanted to carry them down the path, much to the hobbits' displeasure, but when the first one had dropped Frodo, the smaller aliens had adamantly refused to be carried. 

To be honest, the hobbits were possibly having an easier time of it, though she had noticed their looks of horror when the group had first reached the ledge. Clearly neither Frodo nor Sam cared much for heights. However, they were smaller and seemed lighter on their feet than humans, so she supposed they might actually have better balance than she did. Behind her she could hear Trip cursing, and knew that he was also having difficulty keeping his balance.

The height of the Damandras had proved no hindrance to them, either. Once they had begun walking on the precarious trail, Hoshi had been shocked to see that the aliens had tails, kept curled under their tunics. Using the tails and their spears they seemed to have no difficulty traversing the narrow ledge, and moved along quickly, often pausing to wait for the _Enterprise_ crew and hobbits. The aliens had positioned themselves behind everyone except T'Pol, who walked in front of Hoshi.

It was T'Pol who Hoshi was worried about at the moment. Normally the Vulcan had seemed to possess an innate gracefulness; Hoshi had rarely seen her trip or fall. Now, however, T'Pol was stumbling fairly often, one hand grasping white-knuckled at the handholds in the rock face.

"Are you all right, T'Pol?" Hoshi called, reaching a wavering hand out carefully.

"I will be fine," answered the Vulcan, stopping for a moment to rest her head against the wall. "I need a moment to rest."

Hoshi blinked. A Vulcan needed to rest, when humans and hobbits did not? Was her skin paler than usual, or was it that shade because they stood in direct sunlight? "Are you sure? You look a little pale –"

"I told you, I will be fine!" T'Pol snapped, giving her a look that would have seemed angry, if Hoshi did not know better.

The sound of gravel against a boot alerted Hoshi that the Damandras behind her had reached them. She did not dare turn around to see him. T'Pol looked above Hoshi's head and nodded, then turned and continued on.

With a sigh, she followed T'Pol, hoping that they would soon be approaching the end of the trail, and safer ground.

* * *

The motley group finally arrived at the clearing they had spotted earlier, just as the sun's light began to fade. Frodo threw himself gratefully on the soft grass covering the small glade. It had been a long march, and traversing the ledge across the ravine had been no easy task. His head ached abominably, though whether this was due to the Damandras' strange manner of speech, the constant flow of foreign words, or some other cause, he could not tell. As soon as they had arrived, a contingent of the Damandras guards had left and made their way to an opening in the rock wall that framed the other side of the clearing. So close as they now were, the top of the mountain could not be seen, even were the glade not bordered by trees whose overhanging leaves barred view of everything above. In front of this opening stood two more Damandras guards; it was clearly a passage into the Damandras' city. 

Sam flopped down onto the grass beside him. "What did you say T'Pol called these folk?"

"Damandras. She said they call themselves Damandras."

Trip sat down next to him, saying something to Jonathan that Frodo could not quite follow. The man indicated the aliens with a nod, and the hobbit noticed the stares their group received from the Damandras standing by the entry. With the exception of the two who guarded their company, the rest stood clustered together, gesturing wildly with their hands and eyes, but with not a word spoken.

"I reckon they've not seen hobbits before," continued Sam.

"I shouldn't think so," agreed Frodo. He watched as three Damandras left and entered the large passageway before the mountain, with two more following a moment later. The leader of the guards who had brought them here turned with a nod to one of the gate-watchers and made his way over to them.

"Word is being sent to my Queen of your arrival,"he said, his thought booming in Frodo's head. The hobbit caught his breath and absently raised a hand to his temple. It was not at all akin to the gentle but keen searching of the Lady Galadriel, nor yet the subtle sense of the Ring that he found himself opposing ever more often. The Damandras's voice was simply there, its thoughts imparting a strange understanding that he recognized as words, and then it was gone. It felt oddly similar to hearing someone speak, except for the ache in his head that was left behind.

"Please partake of these refreshments we offer you," continued the Damandras as he stepped aside; another guard laid a tray on the ground. On it were six wooden bowls, two only filled halfway, containing a greenish brew that smelled of cinnamon. The hobbit absently rubbed at his brow, watching as the guard stepped back and shared gazes with T'Pol for a long moment. 

T'Pol began speaking and Frodo listened carefully, though he could not understand all of her words.

"Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam as she finished.

"I gather it is a draught of some sort," he answered, unsure.

"It is a healing drink," confirmed Hoshi slowly in her strangely accented Westron, crouching down beside them as Jonathan also sat down, rubbing at his knee. "For our heads."

Sam reached out for a bowl, but Hoshi grabbed his wrist. "Wait!" she commanded, glancing over at Trip and Jonathan, quietly debating the drinks. Their voices grew louder, but the Damandras did not appear to notice, only occasionally glancing over at them.

Abruptly Trip grabbed a bowl and slurped down the contents quickly, evading the captain's grasp at the bowl. An awful grimace covered his face as he swallowed, replacing the bowl on the tray with a shake of his head. Then he smiled, exclaiming happily.

Jonathan admonished him quietly with an angry look and took a bowl for himself.

"You can drink," said Hoshi as she also reached over to the tray. "Trip is well, so it is likely safe." She handed a bowl to him.

Frodo took the bowl she handed him, steadying it carefully on his knee. Perhaps it was a small bowl for a Damandras, but not for a hobbit. "Jonathan did not like, what Trip has done," he murmured as Hoshi handed the other half-filled bowl to Sam.

"What he did," corrected Hoshi, in English, before returning to his own language. "No, he did not." She lifted her own bowl to her lips. "To your health!"

Frodo echoed her toast, and gulped down the green drink. It was intensely bitter in spite of its sweet smell, but he found his headache easing even as he passed his bowl back to Hoshi. As Sam and Hoshi began to discuss the herbal remedies favored by the Widow Rumble, who had been the closest thing to a healer Hobbiton could boast of, he noted that there was only one full bowl remaining. He looked around the small camp, and spying T'Pol's sleeping form at the base of the tree, picked up the Vulcan's bowl and made his way toward her.

He lowered himself to one knee as he reached out a hand to awaken her. For a moment Frodo could almost believe T'Pol to be an apparition from an ancient Elvish tale, though her hair and clothing displayed a fashion other than those of the Eldar. She slept curled up, one hand beneath her cheek, the other resting lightly on the ground. Delicately pointed ears were covered loosely by her cropped chestnut hair. With her eyes closed and her alien gaze hidden, T'Pol looked like nothing so much as a young Elf, far from home and weary beyond telling. Only a slight crease between her brows betrayed tension. She had pushed herself too hard.

He let his hand fall on her shoulder. Before he could call her name, T'Pol's hand shot out and locked itself on the chain around his neck. The bowl he held dropped to the ground as he clutched at her grip, surprisingly strong. Both of the Vulcan's eyes were open now, her intent gaze unfamiliar to him. The Ring's chain dug into the back of his neck as she stood and spoke to him in a tongue he could not understand.

Courtesy instilled in him since his earliest years informed him that striking a lady was utterly wrong. Neither the Ring nor self-preservation had much use for courtesy at the moment, however, and he struck out blindly with all his strength, landing a blow to her eyes and falling to the ground as she stepped back with a hiss.

Frodo dashed forward, seizing a hand-sized rock from the ground and spinning to face the wroth Vulcan. Jonathan and Trip were already upon her, holding down her arms. Sam was running toward him.

A step behind him alerted Frodo and he turned to see Hoshi, watching the scene with wide eyes.

"A ring!" she said in surprise, her eyes lighting up, and his hand flew to It.

"Yes, a Ring," he answered hoarsely, in growing alarm. Would even Hoshi be affected by the Ring's evil? He stepped away from the young woman warily as Sam reached his side. "Please, I beg of you, Hoshi, come no closer! It will take you too!"

She frowned, perhaps not fully understanding his words, and dropped to sit on the ground. "You see, I do not move," she said in her halting Westron. "That is my chain. I gave it to Captain Archer. Why have you it?"

He ran his fingers over the length of the plain silver chain. His own, given to him by the Elves in Rivendell, had melted into an unusable form after the attempt to destroy the Ring. Jonathan had given him this, but had not said where he found it.

"Yours?" She nodded. "Jonathan gave it to me. My own broke." Slowly he drew the Ring inside his shirt once more, to rest against his mithril mail. "I thank you for it."

"You are welcome. What happened?" she nodded at T'Pol. He glanced back at where T'Pol was speaking quietly to Trip and Jonathan, seemingly calm now.

"She – she tried to take It…the Ring." He could see the confusion in Hoshi's eyes. Certainly T'Pol had never given any indication of desiring it before; she had always seemed so aloof.

"She is different – exhausted – I think," Hoshi explained, pausing as she searched for the word in his language. "For her is it difficult, this speech of minds." She smiled up at him. "May I not stand? I wish to speak to Captain Archer. I would not harm you."

He nodded, and stepped away to keep distance between them as she stood, although Hoshi cast him a hurt look. "I do not wish this ring of yours. If you will not tell me of it, I will not ask. I am your friend."

But Boromir had been his friend, too, and also of the race of Men. Somehow he had hoped these strange folk would have more in common with Aragorn and Faramir. So he nodded to show her he understood her words, and smiled, though it felt stiff. At length Frodo found a resting-place at the edge of the clearing, well away from the _Enterprise_ crewmembers. For now he felt too ill at ease to sit among them.

"Well, master, this is a fix and no mistake," commented Sam as he settled next to Frodo.

"And no mistake," echoed Frodo softly, gazing back into the clearing and once more profoundly aware of the Ring hanging from his neck.


	11. On the Doorstep

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fan fiction, and written only for entertainment purposes. The characters belong to their respective creators: J.R.R. Tolkien, his estate, and possibly New Line Cinema; and Paramount Pictures and their writers.

**Author's notes: **Thanks so much for the reviews!

**Warnings: **Please note that I am moving the **rating** of this story up to a T, for an allusion to an adult situation and the use of a word that could be considered offensive, although there is nothing extremely explicit. There is also a major spoiler for the Enterprise episode "Harbinger."

* * *

**Chapter 11: On the Doorstep**

T'Pol sat stiffly against the tree, her back rigidly straight. As Trip approached her he noticed her hands shaking, a slight tremor she quickly concealed, clasping them around her wrists. He sat down next to her.

"How are you doing?" He could not help noticing that she didn't look well, and it worried him. Dark circles under her eyes and random nervous twitches of her shoulders showed that she was only pretending to be unaffected by whatever was bothering her. He had assumed that the Ring would have no effect on a Vulcan; now he wondered if she reacted in spite of her race and upbringing or if it was related to the strange emotional tendencies she'd been showing lately. Phlox had yet to tell him why she had been acting so out of character, but Trip had caught her in Sick Bay often enough to suspect something.

"I am fine, Commander." Her voice quavered slightly; were he anyone else, he might not have detected it, but they had spent many hours together both at work and during his neuropressure sessions. Not to mention that he had been spending a lot of time noticing her lately.

"Right," he nodded. "Sure you are. I just imagined seeing you go after Frodo."

She didn't respond, but continued to stare ahead, watching the others intently. Hoshi and the two hobbits sat in a semi-circle, where she appeared to be explaining something to them in great detail. Archer rested against another tree not far from Trip and T'Pol, his injured knee propped up on a rock, occasionally casting fleeting glances at the Damandras and the entrance to their mountain.

T'Pol was so obviously not fine that he decided to tackle a different issue, rather than addressing the Ring question. Even if she refused or ignored him, as she always had before, at least he would amuse her -- if Vulcans could be amused. "Look, will you stop calling me Commander? I'm not in uniform right now, if you hadn't noticed. And neither are you. Hell, we're living in the past. Starfleet doesn't exist," he continued as he saw her start to open her mouth. "Even World War III hasn't happened yet. Besides, I think people who've – who've -- " Looking around cautiously, he lowered his voice. "People who've shared what we have get to call each other by their first name, or a nickname. Some people even use endearments. So you could try calling me Trip now. Just so you know."

"Do you refer to people who have engaged in intercourse together?" She made no effort to speak more quietly than usual.

He tried to convince himself he was too old to blush about the topic, but wasn't actually certain he succeeded. "Uh, yeah." He hoped the chance to irk him was making her feel better, because Archer, sitting closest to them, had just turned and cast a curious look at him.

"I informed you that was an exploration. An educational experience."

"Yeah, you did. Still," he rallied, "That doesn't mean that you shouldn't call me Trip. Even if it was… educational, we still shared…something. And it is normal that people who feel comfortable enough together to…do that…should be comfortable enough to use first names. Or nicknames." He turned to face her. "Or do I make you feel uncomfortable?"

She appraised him coolly. "Certainly you do not make me feel uncomfortable."

"Than you should call me Trip."

She pursed her lips. "Very well – Trip."

"There!" He beamed at her with her most encouraging smile. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

She gave him her you-are-being-so-childish look and he leaned his back against the tree again, pleased with himself. He hoped he looked smug, but it felt like his face might still be red from her earlier comment. He settled against the broad trunk of the tree behind him. The ridges along the bark poked him in the back.

"Now, about your attacking Frodo – "

T'Pol's hands, clutching her wrists as her arms rested on her knees, jerked slightly.

"About that," he repeated, staring ahead, but hardly noticing much else around them as he pretended to ignore her reaction. "Now, I don't know why you would do such a thing, but I can imagine. I think I – "

"We could use it to return to the _Enterprise_," she said softly.

"What?"

"If I took the Ring I could use its properties to overwhelm the Damandras and return us to the _Enterprise_," she explained, still not looking at him. "Once we were on the ship, whoever has control of It would easily live long enough to destroy the Xindi, and have the power to do so."

"Yeah, It told me I could destroy the Xindi, too," he said, as quietly as she had. "I guess we've got that in common. But what would It do to you? From what Frodo's said, I don't think holding on to It that long would be a very good idea. And what about Frodo? You can't take the Ring from him without hurting him."

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few," she responded, her tone unchanged, but with an undercurrent of steel that made him shiver. He knew she was still considering the Ring's promises. He still remembered them himself, from time to time, until his hand sought borrowed comfort in his jacket pocket.

With a start, he realized that she was not simply watching the others move about the area; her eyes were following Frodo. "No, T'Pol, I think you're wrong there. At least in this case. Here, I have something you might like to see." Reaching into his pocket, he held up the small glass bottle that was Frodo's light. It glittered in the fading daylight.

"The Phial of Galadriel?" She frowned, watching the bottle as it glittered slightly under his hand. Probably she was wondering why he would ask her to do something so illogical. It wasn't that dark yet. "I have seen it previously. Frodo said it was given to him to be a light in dark places."

"You're exactly right, that's what he said," Trip agreed, thinking that the words could just as well describe the Ring's influence as a physical darkness. "Just touch it," he suggested, holding it out to her. "I think you'll find it an enlightening experience." He grinned as T'Pol raised an eyebrow at his pun. "Maybe it'll even be a learning one. Go on. I promise it doesn't bite."

"I do not understand why you think it might do so. It is a light, Commander." She looked at it cautiously.

"Trip," he reminded her.

"Trip," she repeated, tentatively reaching out to touch the top of the Phial, just above his hand.

Watching her face closely, Trip waited, watching with relief the moment the Phial brought its light to bear on the Ring's promises. She was a Vulcan, so naturally there was no sudden emotional outburst, merely the relaxation of a few tension lines about her mouth and forehead as her eyes flickered shut. The Phial's light sparkled between their hands.

"You are correct," she said at last, astounding him. He laughed in relief. Never had he expected to hear her say those words to him. "The Ring will corrupt any use to Its own ends. It can serve no good purpose."

"And It belongs to Frodo," added Trip, hoping she might admit he was right again.

She cast him a significant look. "It belongs to Sauron."

He nodded, conceding the point.

* * *

The Damandras came for them at night, bearing bowl-shaped lanterns that gave off a warm, amber light. It glistened as it glanced off the tips of their spears. Archer's watch told him it was 1900 hours, but to his body it felt much later, not least his sore knee. Admittedly he probably should not have walked for several hours on it, not that there had seemed much choice at the time. A small contingent of aliens made their way from the entrance doors into the mountain, headed by a Damandras guard whose uniform bore many tassels of various colors. He was clearly someone of importance. As the officer stopped in front of Archer his honor guard fell into what seemed to be a battle-ready stance, their gold-tipped spears gripped firmly in hand. 

The grass behind Archer rustled, and Trip and T'Pol joined him. To his right Hoshi and the hobbits were making their way across the clearing.

"Her Majesty the Exalted Queen of the Damandras desires to meet you," came the thought in his head as the guard commander stared at him. "And so meet her you shall. But you are strangers to our world, and metal-friendly, so I must be certain you are worthy to present yourselves to her." This voice in his mind was quieter than those who had spoken to them earlier, and Archer noted that his head did not ache so much as before. The alien medicine they had been given seemed to still be working.

"Tell them we would be honored to meet her," Archer said to T'Pol. She nodded and apparently relayed the message, for the Damandras stepped forward with a gesture of his hand.

He stood in front of Archer, looking him up and down carefully. At one point the large alien shuddered. Eventually he rendered his decision. "You are worthy," came the answer at last. "Little metal do you have left on you to insult our Exalted Queen. You may enter the City."

Archer bowed his head in what he hoped was a respectful manner and following the Damandras's pointing fingers, joined the honor guard. They watched him warily, but made no threatening gestures.

One by one, the Damandras commander examined the members of their group, shuddering slightly as he presumably noticed metal. Trip, T'Pol and Sam passed his inspection, but he hesitated as he reached Frodo.

"He wears a shirt of metal!" The Damandras announced, looking around at Archer, as if this was his fault. The honor guard snapped into formation, raising their weapons, and Sam looked frightened. Archer, however, could see not see how the Damandras had come to his conclusion. Frodo wore, as seemed to be his preference, the hobbit clothes he had on when he and Sam were first found on _Enterprise_, although they had been cleaned and mended since then. The elder hobbit had never seemed comfortable in the attire Phlox had given them. Yet his shirt clearly was not made of metal; anyone could see that.

"Hoshi – " he began, but she was already speaking quickly to Frodo, her voice sliding among the strange sounds of the hobbit language. Frodo gestured expansively to her as they talked, and Sam, standing in front of Archer, called something back to them.

"Well, sir," said Hoshi eventually. "It seems he's been wearing a mail shirt under his clothing. He promised someone he wouldn't remove it, not unless he was somewhere safe." She glanced over at the Damandras. "And I think I'd have some trouble convincing him this is a safe place."

Archer turned to T'Pol. "Ask them what would happen if he were to wear his mail shirt into the city."

"Only an enemy would bring the sickness of metal among our people," boomed the answer into his head, and he staggered. "You are honored that our Most Noble Queen should even allow you into the city, as tainted as you are. Have we not told you the metal afflicts our minds? As much metal as that little one carries would cause much anguish to our people. It might kill a child, should he walk by one. He may not enter our city so arrayed. And he may not stay outside of the city when our Queen has requested your presence."

Archer sighed. He glanced over at Frodo, who met his eyes for a long moment before finally nodding in acquiescence. "I take shirt down," he said in his awkward English, his voice indicating that he was clearly not happy about it. Abruptly the hobbit turned and walked into the bushes.

Immediately, the Damandras guards strode forward, stopping him. "Where are you going?" called the commander loud enough for Archer to wince. Sam rushed forward to join Frodo, ducking under the grasping arm of a guard as he went.

"Pardon!" exclaimed the hobbit, who had raised his empty hands above his shoulders. "I have said, I take shirt down. There are ladies!" Sam spoke to him questioningly, but Frodo shook his head quickly and disappeared in the brush while his friend stood guard, arms crossed. The guards did not lower their weapons.

"I swear sometimes he reminds me of my grandfather," commented Trip as T'Pol apparently communicated with the Damandras leader regarding Frodo's words. The guards stepped back. "Or maybe my great-grandfather," Trip continued. "Has anyone told the hobbits they have to go through decon before we can go back aboard _Enterprise_?"

"I'll leave that pleasure to you, Trip," answered Archer with a smile, as the Damandras commander turned to inspect Hoshi before allowing her to join the rest of the group.

"Thanks, Captain."

A few minutes later Frodo returned, carrying something which shone even in the meager light provided by the guard's lanterns. The mail shirt was not made of plain metal links, as Archer had guessed, but of something that shone silver in the light. Here and there a white jewel could be seen between the rings.

"I'll bet you can't wait to get your hands on a tricorder to scan that thing, can you?" said Trip off to the side. "Not that I blame you. I've never seen anything like it." Archer glanced over to see T'Pol regarding the mail shirt intently, her head tilted slightly.

A Damandras guard, who held the sack where the aliens had placed all of their other metal possessions, stepped towards Frodo, bowing gravely to the hobbit before presenting the sack.

"No harm shall come to it," promised the Damandras holding the sack.

Frodo thanked him, and the group finally followed the Damandras to the entrance of the mountain.

* * *

Darkness seemed to envelop him as Archer followed the guards down the earthen ramp. He blinked several times, attempting to adjust his vision to the dimness, lit only by the scant light of the guards' lanterns. 

Someone bumped into him. "Sorry," mumbled Trip as the guards began to move forward once more.

"Do you think they can turn those lamps of theirs up?" asked the engineer, fumbling for something in his jacket pocket. "I can hardly see."

"T'Pol?" She nodded, and exchanged glances with the Damandras officer.

"Not only are your minds silent, but your eyes are weak as well?" asked the guard captain, the sneer on his alien face clearly recognizable. "No wonder that you must rely on metals." He motioned, and the guard next to Archer slid the paper-like lid of the lantern to the side; more light shot out.

It illuminated the tunnel, and Archer noticed that the walls were not the bare stone walls he expected to see underground. The walls were painted in bright, rich colors, with abstract paintings covering them. As they moved forward he saw what could perhaps be writing and bastardized forms of arrows drawn along the walls. As the group descended further they came into what must pass for a main thoroughfare of the city. This tunnel was several times wider than the one they had entered, lined with open doors and windows displaying wares, and filled with Damandras as well as another similar life form, with a jaundiced look about them. None of the people in this street wore the brown clothes of the guards, but were clad in bright fabrics displaying several different fashions. As they entered music had been playing off to the side, the only sound other than a strange clicking noise, but both faded as their group came to the center of the corridor. The people stared at them.

"Move," commanded their guard captain curtly, surveying the crowd as if anticipating a threat. As they were about to turn into another, smaller, tunnel, a Damandras woman came running up to them. Or so Archer assumed, since this Damandras was noticeably smaller than the guards and wore what appeared to be a dress, made of a green fabric, with matching slippers on her feet. A leather belt was around her waist and a pin of some kind, glittering with jewels, sat on the shoulder of her dress. Her hair was piled in braids on her head.

"I am Analara, from the Queen's Department of Public Relations," she introduced herself, spreading her arms wide. "I am sent to be a guide and friend to you. Can you all sense me?" Her voice was a gentle whisper in Archer's mind. She glanced around at human, Vulcan, and Hobbit, nodding at Archer as she caught his eyes. Abruptly she beamed. "Good! You do not have deaf minds." Analara moved backward, motioning that they follow. "Come; let's get out of the public's view, shall we? Everyone is very excited to see you." They entered a tunnel much smaller than that of the market. Archer began to have the feeling that this was a younger Damandras, not least because of the feeling of cheerfulness that seemed to accompany her words. In spite of himself, he felt his spirits rise. "Now, I was told there is one among you who is a speaker." She regarded T'Pol happily, still with a large smile on her face. "That is you, yes?"

T'Pol nodded slowly.

"You must all have many questions, and I will answer as I can. You must be very confused. So. What do you wish to know?"

Archer spoke first. "Why have you taken us captive?"

"Oh, but you must understand!" came the answer following the pause as T'Pol transmitted the question. Analara's voice seemed worried. "These are soldiers who found you. Their duty is to protect the people. We intend you no harm. Never have we heard of people who can fly up to the sky. Our Queen is most interested in you."

"Why don't they like metal?" asked Trip. "The guards have spears with gold."

"Those are weapons," explained Analara, looking at T'Pol, and then glancing at Trip. "Only the soldiers may use them. They have many hours of training before they are given spears. Metal makes us…ill." She shivered.

"Is there any chance they might give us our communicators back? There really isn't that much metal in them." Hoshi stepped forward. "And who were those other people in the street? The ones with the yellow skin?"

"Those were the Ulellimandras, the Silent People. Like you, their minds do not speak, and they must make noises with their mouths. Unlike you, I do not believe they could ever ride in the skies. They serve us, and we are grateful to have them, but they are not great thinkers. As for your request, I shall pass it along to the Queen. Perhaps we may come to an understanding." Analara frowned. "Your mind tires. No, you are not!" She glared at T'Pol, then glanced at the rest of the group sheepishly. "I apologize. I am unused to speaking to so many silent minds at once. That was rude of me. So. I shall tell you of this place. This is our city. Behind you was a market. There are many in the city. Now we enter the residential area."

Archer glanced at T'Pol as they began to walk. "Where is she taking us?"

"To a chamber that has been prepared for you, in an outer tunnel of the Palace," said Analara. "We hope you will be comfortable there. I am afraid you must wait once more for the Queen. She desired to meet you directly, but there has been some unrest in the city recently, and it is necessary that she deal with this first. She has expressed sorrow at not being able to come sooner."

"I understand." Archer looked around in interest as they passed what must be the Damandras versions of houses. Curtains made of reeds or stones hung in long strands past stone doors and windows, and often the edges were painted in great swirls of color. Occasionally a window was left open and he caught sight of rooms decorated in bright colors, once noticing children playing, who paused to stare out the window at them incredulously. Analara led them down several corridors, and Archer counted at least seven turns down tunnels that looked very similar to each other. After they had been walking for quite some time, he observed that the entrances were more often decorated by shining gems than paintings. Behind him he heard the hobbits discussing something excitedly in their own language.

"We come now to the homes of courtiers and those who work in the Palace," explained their guide. "We have nearly arrived now." Soon she stopped them, taking a turn down another tunnel and a ramp. After another turn down a long hallway they stopped in front of a room guarded by more Damandras soldiers.

"These will be your chambers," announced Analara. She stepped forward and slid the stone door to the side, leading them into a large round room. Several tall lamps stood around the room, as well as a long low table already set with several platters of food, bowls, and six thick cushions on the carpeted floor around it. Situated around the room were several pieces of furniture that seemed to be lounges, and at the back of the room was a large assortment of pillows of varying sizes and shapes. "Please, refresh yourselves here," insisted Analara. She indicated a room off to the side, the door already having been opened. "That is a bathing room. There you will find water and soapsand for your use. Everything here is for your use. Should you need anything more, a guard will be stationed at the outer door for your convenience."

"Or to make sure we don't leave," added Trip quietly.

Archer nodded.

"I will leave you now," stated their guide as she stepped to the door. "And bring word of your arrival to her Majesty. It may be that she will ask me to assist you again. If not, it has been a pleasure to converse with you." She nodded at T'Pol. "May your paths be straight." She smiled at them one last time, and left.

* * *

Sam was awoken from his sleep by a low rumbling noise. He blinked, for a moment unsure of where he was. Then he recalled having washed and eaten some of the strange Damandras food. A great weariness had fallen on them all then, and he had wondered at it. He and Frodo had settled themselves among the pile of cushions at the back of the room. Looking up from where he rested on the floor surrounded by a mountain of stuffed fabric, he saw two tall shapes entering the room, outlined by the bright light of the corridor behind them. They made their way through the shapes of the slumbering _Enterprise_ crewmembers, pausing to stoop over one of them. Sam became alarmed when he noticed them paw at one of the sleeping men. Something was not right here. Why would the aliens be doing such a thing, and why had no one else stirred? 

He turned to Frodo, resting next to him. Perhaps the many pillows might block the strange folk's view and give him a chance to wake his master. He shook Frodo's shoulder, but the other hobbit seemed unresponsive. Worried now, Sam shook his shoulder harder, wary of calling his name aloud lest he alert the aliens.

"Wh—" began Frodo, but Sam already had covered his mouth with a hand. He met Frodo's eyes with his own and indicated the scene with a glance. Frodo followed it, his eyes widening once he saw the taller folk moving among the _Enterprise_ crewmembers. Sharing a worried look with Sam, he watched silently as the dark shapes passed through the darkened room, pausing over the body of each person.

Sam could not make out what the creatures intended. As the Damandras guards had done earlier, they spoke no sounds, merely looking at each other from time to time. He wondered again why their presence had not awakened anyone else. Suddenly, one of the Damandras stood, looking over into the corner where he and Frodo had ensconced themselves. The creature motioned to his companion, and they stepped over either Hoshi or T'Pol – he could not be sure in the dimness – and approached the hobbits.

Sam looked over at Frodo, wondering what should be done. His master met his eyes, and with a slight shrug, simply closed his eyes and settled back amongst the pillows. Sam followed his example and pretended to sleep and breathe evenly, even while hearing the Damandras stop just in front of him.

A hand touched his hair, and he shivered.

_Do you dream of ships, of flying metal ships?_ The words sounded inside his head, just as the Damandras had spoken to them earlier. Sam had no idea how he was to respond; he could hardly talk if he was supposed to be asleep. The Damandras repeated the question, and Sam realized he would have to answer somehow. The question had been asked more insistently.

_No, I don't dream of ships! _He tried to think the words back at the strange creature. It seemed to work, for the next question was slightly different.

_Of what do you dream?_

_I dream of…of…_Sam tried to think of anything that would have as little to do with ships as possible. Asking him questions in his head was unnerving. What should he say? Abruptly he recalled a memory of an afternoon at work at Bag End when he was still a tween, his Gaffer beside him. _I dream of gardens, and flowers, and farming. And food! _He thought back at the strange being, as the memory of a serene afternoon came to him. _I dream of that picnic in the Party Field, when Halfred was down from the Northfarthing and Mari made everyone necklaces of dandelions. The Gaffer wouldn't wear his, and Daisy put hers in her hair as if she were a bride._

The voice and hand left, and Sam heard him straighten, his shoes scraping slightly on the hard floor.

As soon as the stone door rumbled shut, Sam jumped to his feet, scattering pillows in every direction as he made his way over to where the _Enterprise_ crew slept. Frodo reached them only a moment ahead of him.

"They've taken Trip!" his master exclaimed, pausing in the circle of sleeping bodies. He bent to shake the arm of the nearest person.

Sam hurried to turn the light on the nearest stone lantern higher, pushing aside the parchment lid as the Damandras had shown them. The growing light proved Frodo was right; only Archer, Hoshi, and T'Pol still slept there. "Well, they seemed to be looking for someone as could tell them about metal ships. Leastways, that was what that one asked me."

"I was asked much the same thing." Frodo stood up after having tried to awaken each of the others, and glanced at the door.

"You mean to go after them." It was not a question; Sam himself had been wondering if they should.

Frodo nodded, striding over to the door and pausing with a hand on it. "We are the only ones awake, after all. I don't think they intended to take him for some good purpose, or why should they have come when we all slept?" He nodded abruptly, as if coming to a decision, and slid the door open slowly, looking beyond it to the left and right. There was no guard.

"You're not going without me!" Sam hurried over to the door, stopping Frodo's hand on the door with his own.

"I can't take you with me, Sam." He pushed Sam's hand away from the door handle gently. "I don't mean for them to see me." He had already drawn the chain out from underneath his tunic.

"No!" He watched, transfixed in a kind of horror as Frodo removed the Ring from the chain. "You can't! It's too dangerous!"

"We are very far away from Mordor now, lad," said Frodo calmly. "How many times did Bilbo use the Ring to hide from unwanted visitors?" He rested his other hand on Sam's shoulder, cradling the Ring in his right hand. "My dear Sam, I promise you I shan't go looking for trouble. In any case, I don't mean to be gone for long. I shall follow them and see where they take Trip."

"No! Mr. Frodo, he hurt you!" Sam couldn't keep the anger from his voice. Mindful of the open door, he lowered his voice, whispering fiercely. "He tried to kill you! Let them take him! Or let the Big Folk deal with it. Why should you help him? He don't deserve it!"

Frodo stepped back, dropping his hand from Sam's shoulder and giving him a long look.

Sam blushed at the reproval in the other hobbit's eyes. He had disappointed Frodo with his words. "I - I'm sorry, sir. I just don't want you to go somewhere you ought not to. Why must it be you that helps him? Why not just wait until the others wake up?"

"We must help him because there is no one else who can," answered Frodo, turning away from him. "There is no time for arguing now. The longer I linger here, the further away Trip becomes." He drew his hands together, the Ring glinting as it caught the dim light of the chamber.

Sam stepped forward, blocking the way and turned to face Frodo. "You ought to know by now I'd never let you go into danger alone, master. We go after him together, or we stay here together. I'll not let you face this strange place without me."

"Sam, someone must wake them. Shall we leave them here unable to defend themselves, with no knowledge of what has happened to their friend? It would be neither kind nor honorable to do so."

"They'll wake on their own. We did, after all." He watched as Frodo placed the Ring once more on Its chain, and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Very well. You're right, we've been through too much together to separate now." Frodo pulled the hood of his elven-cloak over his head, glancing behind him one last time even as one hand rested on the door. "It is a shame there's no way to let them know why we have left them. But we have neither parchment nor pen."

Sam echoed his action, drawing his cloak close about him. "They seem to be right smart folk. I reckon they'll make out what's gone on, near enough. What are you doing?"

Frodo had dashed over to the low table, now filled with the detritus of their last meal. Sam followed him, leaping over the legs of Captain Jonathan. His master had upended a small bowl, now nearly empty of its thick brown sauce, letting the dregs of the sauce pool on the light wood of the table. His fingers quickly dabbed into the sauce, the drying streaks forming into words. 'Trip taken. We follow after.'

"Will Hoshi understand it?" wondered Sam aloud. "Perhaps you'd better write it in their language."

"Of course. I had quite forgotten." Frodo frowned, hesitating for a moment before finally writing some of the strange English characters on the table. "I'm certain that's not right, but I know so very little of their language. And we must go; too long have we tarried here."

They hurried to the threshold, tugging the heavy stone door shut behind them as quietly as they could. As they sped silently away, Sam looked back once at the closed door, his last memory of the _Enterprise_ crewmembers, before following Frodo down the corridor and away from their companions. 

**

* * *

Author's notes:** Don't forget to leave a review! Let me know what I'm doing right or wrong!


	12. Divergence

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fan fiction, and written only for entertainment purposes. The characters belong to their respective creators: J.R.R. Tolkien, his estate, and possibly New Line Cinema; and Paramount Pictures and their writers. The Damandras and Ulellimandras are my own creations.

**A/N:** Spoilers for the season two Enterprise episode: Cogenitor.

* * *

**Chapter 12: Divergence**

Even their breathing seemed to roar in the silent tunnels of the Damandras city.

As they approached a turn, Frodo tapped Sam's shoulder, halting him, then concentrated on the faint sounds ahead of them.

"This way," he whispered to Sam, proceeding to the right. Their trip had progressed in this fashion for quite a while now. Once leaving the hallway in front of their company's chambers, they had found the lights doused, and the city both dark and quiet. He wondered what the time was; so far underground and without a clock there was no way to tell, although he suspected it must be late at night. As he had in Moria, Frodo found that both his hearing and sight in the dark were stronger than Sam's, and he had led the two of them, following the Damandras largely by sound. By now he regretted the delay back in the chamber, for it was difficult going. If the kidnappers had not paused so often to rest, he doubted he and Sam would have able to follow them at all. He wondered if they stopped so many times because they were unused to carrying people or if Trip was waking. At least the corridors were empty at this hour; save for a chance noise down a tunnel he might have thought the city deserted.

Suddenly, he heard a strange rustling noise and a thump, and paused just before another turn. It seemed far closer than he expected, but the tunnels did seem to carry sound.

"What –" began Sam, stopping as Frodo raised a hand in warning. They were close enough now to be heard.

He peered cautiously around the corner. There they were! Two of the tall Damandras stood above a long, unmoving shape, while a third person, shorter, stood just in front of them, watching the corridor. Frodo pulled back before the sentry could see him, and walked down the tunnel, distancing himself from the turn. Sam followed.

"They're just around the bend," he whispered as they bent their heads close together, a sound hardly louder than a breath. He brought an edge of his cloak up to muffle the sound. "They've posted a watch. We cannot go any farther just yet."

"A watch?" Sam's voice was just as cautious, his brow furrowed as he frowned. "But that's not sense. Who are they hiding from? Not us, they think we're asleep."

"You're right. It's very odd." He moved to straighten up, but Sam stopped him, pressing something into his hand that felt both rough and smooth in parts. It was a handful of rocks from their trek through the woods earlier.

"In case we need to defend ourselves," explained his gardener. "Not as good as Sting, I warrant, but better than bare hands."

"Sam, you're a marvel!" murmured Frodo, catching Sam's quick grin as he pocketed the stones and stood up once more.

They waited for long moments, hardly daring to breathe, before finally they heard the heavy footsteps begin once more. Looking around the corner Frodo saw the backs of the Damandras as they moved around another corner. So it went for quite some time, with the hobbits continuing to trail the Damandras from a distance, until at last the Damandras stopped in front of what seemed to be the entrance to a dwelling.

Frodo watched as the tall beings slid the door closed behind them.

"How are we to get in?" asked Sam as they moved closer. "Surely they'll hear us open the door?"

Frodo considered the door for a long moment. The stone doors the Damandras seemed to prefer had shown themselves to be both loud and heavy. They would certainly be noticed if they used it, and be captured themselves. The only other entrance was a window, above both his and Sam's head.

He turned to Sam. "I think I'd like a look through that window. Do you think you could lift me?"

"'Course I could," answered the other hobbit, moving to stand under the window, and measuring the height with his eyes. "I could carry you, if I'd a mind to."

After several trials, and one fall, Frodo managed to look in the window while balancing on Sam's shoulders. It was a precarious position, and if he had not had the wall to balance on, he doubted he could have managed it for very long.

A thin curtain obscured his view, but through it he could make out a darkened chamber. There were two doors near the back of the room. One of them was half-open, and light snuck into the far end of the room through it. It was then that Frodo saw him. Lying on a low couch midway through the front room was Trip, apparently still asleep.

"He's there," he told Sam. "Let me down." Upon reaching the ground once more, he quickly explained what he had seen in the room.

Sam scratched his head. "I don't know, Mr. Frodo. It seems to me we can't open that door with the Damandras hearing. And we can't very well get Trip out of the window."

"No, I doubt we could manage that." Frodo sat down, resting his head in his hands. "But there must be a way to get him out of there. What would Aragorn do?"

Sam joined him, resting his head against the wall. "He'd not be in this situation, nohow. He would've stopped the Damandras before they even got here."

"I suppose you're right. Gandalf?"

"He'd have turned them all into toads, and we'd have been back on _Enterprise _yesterday."

"Merry would have a plan," Frodo recalled, remembering the Conspiracy now with a kind of fondness.

"Aye, he would," agreed Sam, chuckling quietly. "That's what we need."

"Hmm." Frodo leaned back to look once more at the window above him. "Do you think you could get me up to the window again?"

* * *

He was drifting in a pleasant world of hazy memories when he first heard the voice. 

"Trip! Trip, you must vake!"

His arm was shaken roughly, but he ignored it, trying to find his way back to the sweet languorous warmth he had fallen into. He was far too tired to get up now. The engine diagnostics could wait for a little while yet.

"Trip!" The voice by his ear had grown sharper. "I am it, Maura Labingi! You must vake now!" The shaking commenced, and slowly it dawned on him that he knew the voice: that was a hobbit speaking bad English. The recognition was enough to bring him to full consciousness.

"What?" he murmured sleepily as he sat up slowly, in a darkened room completely different from where he had fallen asleep. Frodo was crouched next to the sofa Trip was lying on. "What's going on, Frodo?"

"You are loud!" whispered the hobbit, with a glance at a lit doorway on the far right of the room. He tugged at Trip's hand. "Come! Ve must go! Now!" Full of curiosity, and more than a little alarmed now, Trip stood up, rubbing the remains of sleep out of his eyes.

A resounding crash as his arm bumped into something made him jump back in surprise. Both he and Frodo stared at the fallen chair for a moment, dumb with shock. To his side, he heard the scrape of a stone door, and saw Sam standing in the corner of the open doorway, eyes wide, also staring at the fallen piece of furniture.

Frodo grabbed his hand, practically dragging him away. "Come on! Come on!"

Finally Trip came to his senses, and ran out the door after the hobbits. He had no idea where everyone else was, nor why they needed to be running, nor why he had woken up in a strange place, but he had been in enough dangerous situations to know this was not an appropriate time to ask questions.

The hobbits dashed down a corridor, looking around frantically once they reached the corner.

"What's going on, Frodo?" asked Trip, catching his breath.

Frodo shushed him with a hiss, glancing back the way they had come. The rumble of a stone door and running feet indicated someone was coming after them. Once more grabbing at his hand, Frodo led him and Sam down a side corridor. Sam ran up to a door ahead of them, decorated with what seemed to be an abstract painting of waves and colorful square shapes. Since both hobbits were enthusiastically attempting to open it, he helped them, closing the heavy door behind them as quietly as he could.

The room itself smelled musty, and not at all pleasant. Utter darkness surrounded him; he could barely make out the shape of the hobbits' heads.

"Do you know where we are?" Frodo once again hushed him as he spoke, glancing worriedly at the door. Pressing an ear against it, Trip heard the crunch of several people walking down the corridor. When the noise finally faded, he felt one of the hobbits pulling at the edge of his jacket.

"Please, Trip. Galadriel-light," requested Frodo. Trip frowned, then realized what Frodo wanted, and pulled out the strange bottle Frodo had loaned him. He handed it to Frodo, and surveyed their surroundings. In the faint light of the phial, he made out the shapes of brooms, buckets, and shelves of supplies, and suppressed a groan. Hiding out in a broom closet: it was such a cliché.

He watched as Frodo brandished the phial. _"Aiya elenion ancalima!"_ cried the hobbit, the words compelling even in their unfamiliarity. A gleaming light flared out from the glass, filling the room. Sam said something to Frodo while shaking his head, and took a seat on another crate next to Trip.

Trip had carried the light for two days, and had never been able to make it do anything remotely similar. He took a closer look at the phial, until his eyes began to water. "How did you do that? What's its power source?"

Frodo frowned in response as he sat down next to Sam. "I do not understand. It is magic."

He sighed. Magic again. Once the Damandras let them have their communicators back, they were going to have a talk about this. The hobbits really needed to understand that there was no such thing as magic. "Well, great, now that we have some light, do you mind telling me what's been going on? Or where the Captain and the others are?"

"Ve are – sorry, ve vere – all tired," Frodo began, a line appearing between his brows as he struggled to explain. "After eat. Ve sleep."

"Everyone fell asleep?" clarified Trip. Frodo's English lessons had barely progressed to the past tense, it seemed. He seemed to have some difficulty with English pronunciation, too. Trip supposed he should be glad they could communicate at all, thanks to Hoshi's English lessons.

"Yes, all. Trip, Jonathan, T'Pol, Hoshi, Maura, and Ban. All sleeping."

"Hold on, who're Maura and Ban?"

"I am Maura," explained Frodo. He nodded at Sam. "He is Ban."

"No," said Trip. "You're Frodo Baggins and he's Samwise Gamgee."

"Maura Labingi and Banazîr Galpsi," insisted Frodo, sounding irritated. "I know my name, Trip."

He blinked, considering the possibilities. "Huh. I wonder if the universal translator has been translating your names?" It made sense that it would, in a way. With some of the aliens they had encountered so far, it stood to reason that they might not be able to reproduce the sounds in alien names. He wondered if Hoshi was aware of it, but then realized she must be. She would have been thrilled to find that out.

"Translator machine?" Frodo frowned, fiddling with a button on his shirt before coming to a similar conclusion. "But ve vill have to tell Hoshi. She vill like to know. She vas very interested in our lenk – leng-gov-vidga."

"It's language, Frodo," he corrected absently, then realized what he had said. "Oh, sorry. Maura. But you know, if you pronounce it just a little differently, your name would be a woman's name in English. I wonder if that's why the translator changed it? I've gotten used to you being Frodo, and him being Sam." He indicated the other hobbit with a nod. Poor Sam could not understand a word of what was said, and was watching the two of them as if he hoped he could follow the conversation by their expressions alone.

"I understand. Use English name, if you like." He smirked. "Frodo _is_ voman's name, in my language." He stumbled once more over the last word.

"What? _Oh_." Frodo started laughing as Trip realized what had happened. Sam asked something, and the other hobbit presumably translated the joke, because Sam also began to laugh, and Trip was surrounded by chuckling aliens.

"It wasn't that funny," he muttered, but they only laughed harder.

Trip waited until they had calmed down before trying to bring the conversation back to its original topic. Captain Archer must be wondering where they were by now. "So, Frodo – er – Maura – um, whoever you are –" he paused as Sam snorted, hiding a chuckle with his hand. "You said we fell asleep. What then?"

Frodo sobered instantly. "Ve vake. Damandras take you. Jonathan, T'Pol, and Hoshi – all sleep. Do not vake. Ve follow."

"They wouldn't wake up?" That was alarming. "You're sure they're still alive, right?"

"Yes!" Frodo placed a hand to his neck. "Asleep, not dead. They has-" He tapped at the base of his neck. "This – um –"

"A pulse? It's still beating?"

"Yes, it go, up and down. I write vords on table," continued the hobbit, shifting on his crate.

"You left them a message? Good work. So now we just have to get back there." He stood, not really wanting to remain in this smelly closet any longer than necessary. Frodo looked up at him sadly.

"Well?" Trip moved to the door. "Let's go." The hobbits still had not moved. He put his hands to his hips. "What is it?"

"Trip, I am sorry. But – Damandras valking so fast, and dark vas it." Frodo sighed heavily, glancing at his feet. The levity of a few minutes ago was gone. "Far are ve from Jonathan and all. I do not know vhere are ve. Ve are lost."

* * *

T'Pol woke in a silent, darkened room. The sound of heavy breathing came to her left, and she looked down to see Captain Archer still sleeping on the mattress on the floor. The room contained only two couches, which the men had offered to Hoshi and herself. 

Sitting up, she moved to slide the shade on the lantern on the floor near her couch, illuminating half of the room. At once she noticed that Trip was missing from the room. When she had fallen asleep, he had been resting on the mattress near her. It also seemed astounding that they had all tired at the same time. Surely someone would have remained alert? She stepped over to the pile of cushions at the back of the room. There was no sign of either Frodo or Samwise, except for pillows scattered in every direction. The door to the bathroom was open, and that room was clearly empty.

She stepped to the table where they had eaten, still covered with various dishes and the remains of its food. Strangely, the Palace servants had never returned to clear away the dinner dishes. Turning the light of the lamp on the table higher, she noticed streaks of dried sauce in the forms of letters. Although one sentence was written in letters foreign to her, the others formed shaky English characters. "Damndrass have Trep. We goe with." Clearly Frodo had been aware enough to write the words, for Samwise did not understand English.

She stood, and made her way over to the captain. He slept still, as evidenced by his heavy snores. She found that shaking him produced no result. Sitting down next to his mattress, she shouted in his ear. "Captain Archer, you must wake up!" He would not respond. She went to Hoshi and performed similar actions, with the same result.

Opening the door, she saw the guard standing next to it, and addressed him. "Where have our companions been taken?"

He stared at her, apparently in surprise, before his reply came into her mind. "Taken? Why do you ask? It is the middle of the night."

She indicated the room behind her with a hand. "They are not here. And one of them left a message stating that your people have appropriated them."

The guard took a look inside the room, before nodding at her. "I will fetch my captain."

"Please do so. Bring a doctor as well, for the others will not awaken. I surmise they may have been drugged. Your hospitality leaves much to be desired."

He nodded once more, blanching at her final remark, and ran off. T'Pol returned to the chamber, settled on the couch where she had slept, and regarded the room contemplatively.

* * *

They made their way as quietly as possibly down the empty corridor. The walls and entrances, Trip noticed now, were not as ornately decorated as the ones near the Palace. Instead of the bright stones decorating the doorways and window frames, the entries in this tunnel has sparse swatches of peeling paint along their edges. 

Frodo pointed out the quarters where Trip had been held captive before his rescue. As they came even with the window, he glanced in, but no light shone out. Apparently his captors were still looking for them. They had only gone a few more steps when Frodo stiffened, and stopped, glancing at the window of the next dwelling. The hobbits held a brief, whispered conversation before Frodo turned to Trip.

"You do not hear? It veeps."

"What?" He strained his ears, and took a step closer to the door the hobbits were staring at. "I don't hear anything, Frodo."

"It veeps," insisted Frodo, frowning. "A young."

"A child," corrected Trip as he pressed his ear to the door. He could just make it out: a soft, sobbing sound, occasionally broken by a pause. It was high-pitched enough to be the voice of a child. Clearly the hobbits' pointed ears functioned as well as T'Pol's.

"Child," repeated Frodo, stumbling over the word. "Trip, ve must help child."

"Now, look, you two, nobody likes to hear a kid crying, but this might be someone's home. There could be any one of a hundred reasons why it's upset."

"Please, Trip." Two sets of brown eyes looked pleadingly at him. Perhaps it was the fact that they themselves could at times resemble children, with their innocent words and quick laughter, which made him give in. Or perhaps it was their refusal to accept that a child crying could have a reasonable cause in spite of how easily they normally took in explanations for far stranger things. Or maybe it was just that they stubbornly stared him down until he sighed and approached the door.

"You must not," suggested Frodo, pointing. "There is vindow."

Resigned, he made his way to the window. Like all of the other windows in the Damandras city, there was no glass. Marks along the top and bottom of the sill indicated the presence of shutters at some point in the window's past. A worn, tattered, curtain hung there, and he pushed an edge aside, cautiously. The room inside was dark, and apparently uninhabited. He could make out little of the room, but did not see a child, though he still heard it.

He reached a hand behind him, asking Frodo for the phial. Its light flickered as it passed from the hobbit's hand to his.

The sobs halted abruptly as he held the light up to the window, revealing a large, open room. Scanning the room, he noticed several long tables, and shelves cluttered with strangely shaped items. Some items were clearly earthenware jars and jugs; others looked like tools made of stone, clay, or wood. An open doorway on the left side of the room caught his attention. After glimpsing the edges of furniture through the opening he recognized it as the one in which he had been found by Frodo.

"Trip?" asked Frodo.

"It looks like this isn't actually a separate house," he explained. "It's the room to the right of where I woke up." He wondered if the Damandras who had taken him had also captured a child, and if so, why?

The hobbits had already moved to the door. He followed, helping them enter it, not at all certain this was a good idea. By now he had experienced enough to know that human attempts to help alien cultures could often result in misunderstandings.

They made their way into the far room. Trip followed the hobbits, pausing occasionally to examine the items spread out across the tables. In addition to the wood and stone tools he had identified from the window, some seemed on closer inspection to be made out of a material similar to plastic. Most were dirty, if not downright filthy, and had bits of what looked like rotting flesh. It smelled foul, too, and he covered his mouth with a hand to keep from gagging. He hoped it was only meat, and not something worse. The room had a sinister feel to it, and he shivered, thinking the hobbits were lucky to be so short.

"Here is she!" called Frodo, from the corner of the room. Trip realized he was standing alone in the dark, and hurried over to the hobbits.

Set into the wall was a series of what could only be termed stone cubicles or cages, each about the height of the hobbits, with barred doors. All but the one in front of the horrified hobbits were empty. In that cage crouched a young, yellow-skinned, alien. He recalled that their Damandras guide had mentioned these aliens worked for the Damandras, but could not remember their name.

It must have shown on his face. "She is Ulellimandras," supplied Frodo.

Trip bent down to look more closely into the cage. Sam was pressed up close against it, making soothing noises while the Ulellimandras stared back with wide yellow eyes. "How do you know it's a girl?"

"I do not _know_," answered the hobbit. "I think." He shrugged his shoulders. "Trip, you must help. You fix _Enterprise_. You can open door."

He crossed his arms, considering. Of course he wanted to get the kid out of there. He could not think of a possible good reason to keep a child locked in such an obviously creepy room. But he remembered all too well the incident with the Cogenitor, and others like it where he had approached a situation with his human prejudices, as T'Pol would say. She would probably tell him to walk away and leave the girl alone; it was none of his business. He looked once more at the cage. The light, held in one of Sam's hands, bounced erratically as the sandy-haired hobbit inspected the lock on the door, a square piece of stone.

Frodo repeated his request, insistently, and he sighed, turning away from the pitiful scene. Trying to explain T'Pol's reasoning to the hobbits would be nearly impossible.

Hands grabbed his wrists, pulling them roughly until he turned around. Frodo looked up at him in disbelief. "You cannot think her not to help! You must help!"

"Frodo, look, I'd like to, but –"

The hobbit stepped back, dropping his arms. The look in his eyes made Trip feel very ashamed. He was no Vulcan; he could not cling to logic to save his feelings.

A loud keening sound came from the cage, and a clang, as Sam dropped the tool he had been trying to open the cage door with. The alien girl banged on the cage bars, crying something in her own language.

Trip closed his eyes, trying determinedly to rationalize his refusal. Their main goal had to be to get back on _Enterprise_. He could not afford to involve them in anything that would prevent that. Once again, the incident with the Cogenitor came to mind. He had thought he was helping the Cogenitor, and had ended up causing its suicide.

"Do you think I do not know vhat is in this room?" asked Frodo carefully, interrupting his thoughts. "I cannot see vhat on tables, but I smell this, Trip. I feel this. This place, this is…this is…_balc_. Vill you not help voman-child? She is daughter." He paused, then continued. "She is _sister_."

He glanced down in surprise at the emphasis Frodo placed on his last word. He did not recall having ever told Frodo about his own sister. The hobbit stared back with a measuring look, clearly aware that his words would affect Trip. Maybe Hoshi had mentioned it to him; they had spent more than a little time together in the trip to this planet. Looking once more at the cage, he caught the eye of the alien girl, who was crouched near the door. Her lips trembled, her eyes filled with fear. Frodo was right: she was someone's daughter, someone's sister. If this girl were Elizabeth, he would have had the door open by now.

"Fine," he said resolutely, and strode over to where Sam sat in front of the cage. "Sam, give me that." The hobbit ignored him, still intent on poking the tool at the cage lock. "Ban!" insisted Trip, recalling the hobbit's name in his own language. Sam looked up in surprise and quickly handed him the stone tool before stepping back from the door. The Ullelimandras girl uttered a few squeaky sounds, which might have been part of her language.

"Maybe this voman-child can take us to Jonathan and others," suggested Frodo.

Trip frowned as he took a closer look at the lock, motioning with a hand for Sam to come closer with the light. "Sure, that's a great idea," he answered. "Soon as you figure out how to ask her that, let me know. I'm not so good at foreign languages without a communicator."

Behind him Frodo sighed. "Sorry. You are right. I forgot about this."

"That," corrected Trip, settling back on his heels and glaring at the lock. It was not as easy to open as he had first assumed. "Look, Frodo, you seem to have the best ears. Why don't you station yourself by the door?"

There was a long pause. "I do not understand," admitted the hobbit eventually. "You like my ears? It is…ah…it is nice you think this, but vhat is at door?"

Trip groaned in exasperation, and looked at him. "You have the best hearing," he explained slowly. "Please go stand by the door and let us know if you hear the Damandras coming back."

"Oh!" Frodo scurried off in the direction of the door. Sam moved to follow, but Trip called him back; he needed him to hold the light.

Finally, after a few more prods and pokes with the tool, the lock finally snapped open. The Ulellimandras girl bounded out as soon as he swung the door open, flinging her arms around Sam and making incessant squeaking sounds. She was almost as tall as the hobbit himself.

It was then that Frodo called to them. "Trip! Ban! Damandras come!"

"Right. Let's get the hell out of here." He grabbed the girl, ignoring Sam's protest as he swung her up into his arms. She began crying and talking loudly in her language until he clapped a hand over her mouth. "Hush! Damandras!" The alien girl quieted instantly.

He led them out of the side chamber where he had been held captive and back into the corridor. Running back in the direction of the broom closet after Frodo he could hear the Damandras behind them.

_"Stop!"_ He jerked as the words entered his mind, almost dropping the alien girl.

The hobbits had also halted, but a tug on his hand convinced him to keep going, and they sped down a dark corridor. Someone had doused the light. One of the hobbits pulled him to the side, and Trip found himself pressed into an alcove of some sort. The quick gasps by his ear and pounding heartbeat of the girl he held tightly reminded him of his own heavy breathing, and he swallowed, trying to breathe more lightly.

He heard the scuff of feet as the Damandras came around the corner. Apparently they needed little light, for he saw no lantern. As the sound approached he realized he had been mistaken – there was only one of the aliens, wearing what seemed to be a dress. She was examining the walls and doors carefully. _Please don't see us_, he thought, _just keep walking_. He breathed a sigh of relief as the alien passed, apparently missing them in the gloom.

The Damandras stopped, and turned to look at them. "There you are!" She stepped forward, regarding them in apparent confusion. "Who are you? _What_ are you?" The words in his mind seemed shocked. Trip decided she could not be one of the Damandras who had kidnapped him.

"Well, that's kind of a long story," he said, shifting the girl and giving the Damandras what was hopefully a friendly smile. "But if you could direct us back to the Queen's Palace, that would be a real help."

"The Palace?" She stepped forward, looking at the alien girl in his hands. "This is Dontorro's girl. Where did you strangers find her? Did you take her? She has been missing for days."

He blinked in surprise at her answer, wondering how she could understand him. In his shock, he almost let her take the Ulellimandras girl, but the child protested, wailing and wrapping her hands more tightly around his neck.

"I think she's afraid of you, or your people," he explained with a shrug of his shoulders. He could always ask her about the sudden communication advance later. "It might have to do with where we found her."

"Where was that?" She paused, tilting her head as if she heard something far away. "Come with me. This is not a safe place to speak."

Cautiously he took a step after her. "If you could just show us the way to the Palace –"

"The Palace is not a safe place!" The words rang in his head, and he winced. She continued, her words in his mind softer. "Come with me. I will take you to the girl's home. We may speak freely there about where you found her, and it is not far. You may tell me of your people as we go."

He hesitated, looking down at the hobbits.

"She is friendly…" said Frodo uncertainly.

"Yes, I am," came the Damandras's voice in Trip's head, sounding irritated. "But I might not be for much longer. If you won't come, you can stay here and let the Palace guard find you." She stepped away, looking back at them.

"Why would that be a bad thing?" he responded. "The rest of my people are in the Palace."

"Clearly you do not know much about the Damandras, if you think our Queen will be kind to you. Come with me." The tone of her words turned insistent, almost compelling.

"All right. But my friends are at the Palace. You have to tell me why it's dangerous."

"Agreed," came the amused answer. "Come now."

He stepped out of the alcove, the hobbits following, and followed the unfamiliar Damandras down the dark corridor.

**

* * *

A/N: **The use of Frodo and Sam's Westron names as well as the bit about male hobbit names ending in 'a' as opposed to 'o' were inspired by Appendix F (Part II: On Translation) in RotK. Internet resources on Tolkien's languages were also used to gather information on Westron. The Westron word _balc_ horrible. Frodo has difficulty pronouncing the letter 'w' because there apparently is no 'w' in Westron.

Please review and let me know what you think!


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